To Save You
by Emily Beauchene
Summary: Gilbert could remember the first time he ever saw the Edelsteins. It was June eighteenth, nineteen-twenty seven. He had been thirteen years old at the time, an age where he was beginning to discover who he really was, as much as a thirteen-year-old could discover himself. There was no debate that June eighteenth, nineteen-twenty seven his life was changed forever. Hetalia WWII AU
1. Chapter 1

Gilbert remembered the first time he ever saw Roderich. It was June eighteenth, nineteen-twenty seven. He had been thirteen years old at the time, an age where he was beginning to discover who he really was, as much as a thirteen-year-old could discover himself. One thing he had discovered was that he was definitely, and completely awesome. Of course, he'd known that pretty much since the day he was born, but it was really starting to show when he was thirteen.

Gilbert was the fastest in his whole school, even out of the older boys. He was also the tallest boy in his town, at least out of the ones that were the same age as him, and he was even taller than the boys that had towered over him when he was younger. His dad always said that he would get a growth spurt eventually, and he was right.

The first time Gilbert heard his dad say that was a nice fall day in October when he was ten. He had come home in a bad mood after being bullied by boys older than him, and even some boys that were the same age as him. They laughed and jeered because he couldn't run as fast as them, or do as many push-ups as them, despite how hard he tried for a ten-year-old.

"You're so skinny, Beilschmidt!" the boys would say, laughing and poking at his thin arms.

"Don't worry, Gilbert," his dad had said, glancing up from his newspaper. The headline was something about a zeppelin making a transatlantic delivery flight from Germany to America. "You'll grow bigger than them some day. All Beilschmidt boys are like those plants in your mother's garden, they never stop growing. And then you can make those bullies run home crying."

At first, Gilbert really liked the thought of getting back at the kids who had been cruel and mean to him. Didn't they deserve to run home crying after so many times of making him do the same? However, he decided that it would probably disappoint his mother, she was always telling him about doing what he would want done to him, or something similar, and the last thing he wanted to do was disappoint his mother.

The first time he had done so was when Ludwig, his younger brother, had been born. Gilbert had been five, and hadn't exactly wanted a younger brother to take care of, but his mother was trying to get him to promise that he would always be there for his younger brother to protect him. Gilbert didn't want to do that, five-year-old him was convinced that having a baby brother would mean that he would have to grow up and become an adult and go to war with his dad and maybe not come back like his friend's dad.

"Gilbert, he's your baby brother, you'll need to teach him a lot of things and be there for him," his mother had said as she softly rocked the small, blond baby in her arms.

"No! I hate him!" Gilbert shouted, running out of the room, despite his mother's cries for him to come back and stay inside while it was raining.

Gilbert didn't care about rain, he didn't care about his brother, and he didn't want to care about anything. He did honestly, he didn't want his mother and father to be upset with him, but right in that instant he didn't want to grow up and he wanted to stay five years forever. Soon after the incident though, he'd received a letter from his grandparents in Berlin, scolding him for his childish behavior. The letter made him angry at first, but then he realized that maybe he had been being dumb, and not exactly an awesome big brother.

After all, how was his brother supposed to grow up being as awesome as Gilbert if he didn't have a mentor and big brother as awesome as Gilbert? So after that, Gilbert decided he would be as awesome as he could be, and be more awesome each year, if that was even possible. But so far, it had been. He had eight years of awesome behind him and it was making him eight times more awesome. He made sure he didn't disappoint his mother, looked after his brother, and made his father proud.

Back to being the most awesome thirteen-year-old for miles, Gilbert was the first boy in his age group to have any sort of hair on his chest. Yes, the older boys who had more laughed at him in gym when he boasted about it to his friends, but they didn't matter, all that mattered was that his friends had reacted well when he showed them.

Gilbert also had the best younger brother. Ludwig, though five years younger, was fun to be around, despite that the word fun didn't seem to be in the eight-year-old's vocabulary, and none of Gilbert's friends minded when Ludwig tagged along. Ludwig was quiet and kept to himself, and rarely ever spoke. That's probably why everyone liked him so much, even more than they liked Gilbert.

"What a well-behaved boy!" the neighbors and teachers would croon, patting the top of Ludwig's head.

Yes, it was true that Gilbert and Ludwig's father and mother were far more loving and doting towards Ludwig because he was better behaved and didn't cause any trouble, but Gilbert didn't mind. It didn't bother him at all really, just let him know that he had been a good big brother to his little brother. His most important job, though, was keeping Ludwig safe at all times.

Especially from a prissy, know-it-all neighbor and his mean, tom-boy of a sister who had only just moved in that summer. Roderich's family moved to Germany from Austria, and him, his adopted sister and his parents all looked exactly the same; brown hair, pale skin and weird eyes. The only way Gilbert could describe Roderich's eyes were that they were prissy-purple. On the other hand, Elizaveta's eyes were a mosaic of all of the greens Gilbert's thirteen-year-old mind could imagine. Her eyes were _awesome_, like they were made from all of the different leaves in the trees during summer.

Everything about Elizaveta was awesome, really. Gilbert couldn't think of anything about her that _wasn't_ perfect… aside from the fact that when they first met, Gilbert had had no idea that the girl was, in fact, a girl.

The first time Gilbert properly met either Edelstein child was later in the afternoon when their whole little family had moved into the house across the street from his own house. Of course, the first thing on Gilbert's mind was to make sure that the new boys knew that he was the top dog around here. At least, he was top dog when it came to kids thirteen and under. Putting on his best smile and making sure his pants and shirt were clean, he knocked on their front door, waiting politely.

Their mother, a pretty lady with long brown hair and those same prissy-purple eyes as Roderich, answered the door. "Hello, young sir," she said, smiling politely. "I'm guessing you're here to play with Roderich?"

"And the other boy, too!" Gilbert interrupted, internally scolding himself for doing so. Interrupting adults was so not awesome.

The woman seemed taken aback, blinking a few times and furrowing her pretty eyebrows. "The other boy?" she mused, thinking for a few seconds. Then she laughed, a light laugh that sounded like the tinkling of bells. "You mean Elizaveta."

_Strange name for a boy_, Gilbert thought, not even considering that Elizaveta might actually be a girl and not a boy. All he could think about was where the best mud puddle was in town currently, or if he could somehow manage to push the two of them into the pond by the school.

"I'll get them for you," their mother said, going back into their house. Compared to all the other ones in their neighborhood, it was a really nice house, a really, really nice house. Gilbert couldn't help the twinge of jealously he felt. These Edelsteins even had a car, something no one in this town had aside from the mayor.

A few moments later he was brought out of his thoughts as the door reopened, and two other kids his age were standing there, Elizaveta and Roderich. Really, Gilbert had mostly just wanted to cause havoc with Elizaveta, just from the way Roderich kept his nose upturned and his arms crossed, let Gilbert know upon sight that this kid was going to be a total snore and no fun at all. However, Gilbert tolerated his presence for the meantime, knowing that both of them needed to learn who was boss around this town.

Elizaveta crossed his arms too, examining Gilbert with a little smirk and raising an eyebrow. "Are you what passes for a boy around here?" he asked.

Gilbert raised an eyebrow back, sticking his hand out in a somewhat formal greeting. "My name is Gilbert Beilschmidt, hopefully you learn fast, because if you forget that, you'll be in for it."

A grin breaking onto his face, Elizaveta took Gilbert's hand, shaking it firmly and then grabbing Roderich by the arm and pulling him out of the doorway where he was reluctantly standing. "This is my brother Roderich. Well, I call him my brother. I am adopted, and he acts too much like a girl to be a brother."

Roderich's face flushed an indignant shade of red, and he huffed, holding his arms close to his body and turning away from Elizaveta and Gilbert. Gilbert snickered, grabbing the brunet's shoulder and trying to pull him into the conversation.

"Aw, c'mon, Roderich! I'm sure you're lots of fun; Elizaveta just always has to deal with you so now you're boring. Don't worry, I'll make you awesome again!" he assured, giving Roderich a not-so-light smack on the back, causing the boy to yelp. "That's my job around here, I make everyone awesome. Sure, no one can be as awesome as _me_, but I can get you close."

All Roderich had to say to that was a short and curt, "You sure are conceited."

Gilbert didn't know what conceited meant, but he knew from the way Roderich said it that it was definitely an insult. Gilbert also knew that anyone who dared insult him got an extra shove into mud, or maybe rocks. He wondered briefly if Roderich was the type of sissy baby who would cry after getting a little muddy. It wasn't exactly something that Gilbert doubted. He laughed aloud just thinking about it, and earned himself two mildly confused looks from the other boys.

"Let's go!" Gilbert announced, grabbing both boys by the wrist and dragging them away from the safety of their house.

Their day at the pond, in some way that Gilbert still couldn't quite comprehend, ended with a sopping wet Gilbert, and perfectly dry brothers laughing at him the whole way back to their houses. Gilbert's face was cherry red with embarrassment, and all he could hope was that none of his friends or the older boys saw him. The last thing he needed was to be known as the boy who got outsmarted by the new kids. He would be laughed at for weeks, years probably.

Grudgingly, Gilbert parted ways with Elizaveta and Roderich, sticking his tongue out at them as they turned their backs and went into their fancy home, painted all white on the inside. Gilbert stormed into his house, ignoring his mother and brother who were sitting at the dinner table, reading Ludwig's newest book, and going straight to his father.

"Those new boys made a fool of me!" he announced, not even bothering to check if his father was doing something. Which, thankfully, he wasn't.

"Which new boys?" the older German man asked, raising his eyebrows.

"The ones across the street! The Edelstein boys, Roderich and Elizaveta!" Gilbert said, his anger instantly deflating as his father burst out laughing. "What are you laughing at?" he snapped, furrowing his eyebrows.

"I am laughing at you," Gilbert's father responded, leaning back in his chair. "Did you really think Elizaveta is a name for a boy? She is a girl, Gilbert."

Gilbert instantly felt humiliated, he _had_ thought it was a strange name, but that was the only thought that crossed his mind. It didn't really matter to him if Elizaveta had a girl's name, it just matter that he, well, she, was fun to play with. And she was fun to hang out with, for a girl. He still couldn't wrap his mind around it though, Elizaveta was nothing like any of the other girls in their town. Most of those girls didn't want anything to do with him, calling him a "smelly boy", which was untrue, because his mother made him take a bath every day. He couldn't believe it. A _girl_ had made a fool out of him. It was hard to even believe Elizaveta was just another girl, until he saw her in a dress for the first time.

It was later in the summer, towards the start of the school year again, and Roderich apparently had a piano teacher coming in to listen to how he'd practiced, or something like that. Gilbert stopped paying attention when Roderich mentioned the word "piano". What kind of boy played piano? However, Gilbert made sure he stuck around for the event, because if their family was having a visitor, it meant Elizaveta had to look like a girl. She really did, and it was quite the shock to Gilbert.

Elizaveta's hair was combed for once, and she had a pretty bow on the top of her head, to make up for her hair that she preferred to keep short. Somehow, her mother had managed to get her into a pretty green dress that was simple, but looked very nice on her. Gilbert didn't have an eye for fashion like the French boy that he met in Berlin oh so many years ago, but he knew that the dress at least looked nice on Elizaveta.

Gilbert could feel the blush on his face, as there was a very prominent burning feeling in his cheeks and ears, and he knew Elizaveta had noticed and was going to tease him. He couldn't let her get away with that! And he definitely could not let the other girl know that he thought she looked genuinely gorgeous.

So, a safe distance away on the opposite side of the street from where Elizaveta stood in her doorway, Gilbert let the girl know what he thought of her appearance.

"Aww, look how pretty you are!" Gilbert teased, sticking his tongue out at the brunette. "You actually look like a girl for once; it must have been magic!" With every taunt, Gilbert could see Elizaveta's face becoming redder and redder, his own blush going away and turning into his usual cocky grin. "Your mother must have been scrubbing your face for hours to make it look like a girl's face!"

"Gilbert Beilschmidt, you shut up right now!" Elizaveta shouted back. "I may be in a dress but I can still fight you to Hell and back! Come over here and say all of that to my face, Gilbert!"

Well, she'd caught him there, hadn't she? Gilbert blanched at the thought of getting his butt handed to him by a girl, especially a girl wearing a frilly bow and a stupid green dress. Elizaveta smirked, knowing she had Gilbert in the palm of her hand.

"What's the matter, Gilbert? Are you too _scared_?" she called, putting her hands on her hips and leaning forward, raising a thin eyebrow at the blonde boy across the street.

"I'm not scared of _you_!" Gilbert shouted, taking a few steps towards the street to prove his point. Elizaveta just laughed at him, crossing her arms with a wide grin, keeping her eyebrow raised at Gilbert, posing a challenge for the boy. Gilbert was not one to back down from a challenge.

He crossed the street, his chin held high, and his stride confident as he approached Elizaveta, using his height to his advantage and leaning over the girl. "I think your dress is ugly," he sneered, tugging on the left sleeve of said green dress. "And I think this bow is dumb, you still look like a boy, even with all of this girly crap and even though you're clean for once, and don't smell like a pig, you _saukerl_."

Gilbert instantly knew he had gone too far with that last insult. At first, Elizaveta looked ready to cry. Her green eyes took on a glossy feature he had never seen, and it stunned him, he never thought Elizaveta the type of girl to cry. He always thought she was the girl that solved her problems with her fists.

The next thing Gilbert knew, Elizaveta's fist was in his face and he crumpled to the floor, holding his nose and shouting in pain. Elizaveta was standing over him, looking her usual triumphant self with her hand all bloody. Elizaveta's mother rushed out a few seconds later, gasping as she realized what happened. Elizaveta was dragged inside by the ear, and then a second later Elizaveta's mother was back, guiding Gilbert inside and to the kitchen.

She sat him down on a chair, handing a towel to him so he could hold it to his nose, tutting the whole time like a mother hen. "That girl is so violent," she was muttering, grabbing their first aid kid from a cupboard beneath the sink. She walked back over to Gilbert, taking the towel from him and wiping his face free of blood, looking over where he'd been punched. "Well, she did not break your nose, that's good," she said. The woman handed Gilbert a couple of pills and a small glass of water, pausing her cleaning of his face for him to swallow the medicine.

As she went back to cleaning the blood, Gilbert glanced towards the doorway of the kitchen, spotting a certain prissy-purple-eyed brunet smirking at him. Gilbert narrowed his eyes, his own fist itching to punch that smug look off of Roderich's face. Before his mother noticed him, though, Roderich had exited the kitchen and, presumably, went back to his sissy piano.

"Why does Roderich play piano and Elizaveta does not?" Gilbert asked, just hoping his breath didn't smell bad as Mrs. Edelstein was very close to his face when he spoke.

"Roderich likes music, Elizaveta does not, it is as simple as that," the lady said.

Gilbert just nodded. That reasoning sounded dumb to him, weren't girls supposed to stay inside and play frilly instruments, and boys were meant to play outside and cause trouble? That's how it had always been in their town, the girls never ran around, or played football with the boys or got themselves dirty. Elizaveta was the exact opposite though. Gilbert snickered, when school started, Roderich would probably get along better with the girls than the boys; he could perfectly imagine the brunet brushing hair and playing house, instead of running races and playing sports.

He couldn't wait to see that. In the meantime though, this summer of nineteen-twenty seven was going to be a lot of fun. There was no debate that June eighteenth, nineteen-twenty seven, Gilbert's life was changed forever. He could remember the first moment he ever saw Roderich, the brunet climbing out of the Edelstein family car, examining the run down street with run down houses with distaste, as if he were better than everyone else around him. Gilbert remembered the exact scornful glare that Roderich gave him from across the street as he straightened his perfectly ironed coat, and Gilbert fondly remembered that exact moment as the moment he realized that he hated Roderich Edelstein.

* * *

A/N: I have taken over this story for a friend, it's doubtful anyone really knows that story anymore, it was published two years ago. I am not quite sure the direction this will end up taking, the original writer's intent was PruAus but this also has the potential to become PruHun, I'm not really sure yet. The rating will most likely be bumped up in chapters to come, but for now it is just a cute story of three childhood friends.


	2. Chapter 2

The first day of school rolled around faster than Gilbert could have ever imagined. Never before had a summer gone so fast for him, and he wasn't exactly sure why this one had. His mother claimed that it was because he was too busy playing with Elizaveta and Roderich to really think about the time and realize how fast it really was going. Gilbert supposed that was true, even if it seemed odd.

The first time it was brought up was a week and a half out from the first day of school. Gilbert was groaning and whining and moping around the house, as the Edelsteins had taken a short vacation to Berlin as Roderich and Elizaveta had never gone before. Gilbert couldn't have ever imagined being more bored than he was now. Who knew that his whole concept of fun would be twisted so much by two new people that he couldn't even stand the sight of his old friends anymore? None of them were as daring and brave as Elizaveta, or as charmingly stuck up as Roderich.

His mother entered his room after lightly knocking on the door, raising an eyebrow at her son who was laying completely still, face-first on his bed. She laughed, going over to Gilbert and lightly patting his shoulder. "You really do like them, don't you?" she asked with a soft smile.

Gilbert nodded, rolling onto his back and frowning at his mother. "Yes, and now they're not here and I've got nothing to do. It's really unawesome of them to just ditch me like this. We've got less than two weeks of summer left!"

The older woman nodded, and sat on the edge of Gilbert's bed, looking around his room for a couple seconds. "Yes, time sure does fly, doesn't it?"

"I don't get why, though! No summer has ever been this quick, and we got out of school at the same time as always!" Gilbert complained, furrowing his eyebrows at his mother.

"That's because you're always with your friends, Gilbert. Time goes by faster than you can blink when you're having fun," she said, leaving his room and picking up a few dirty articles of clothing on her way out.

It was true, every day, from the moment he woke up to the moment he went to sleep, was spent with the Edelsteins from across the street. Within just a few weeks, the three of them (mostly Gilbert and Elizaveta) had become infamous. None of them were allowed in certain shops, and had been scolded more than once publicly by their parents. Two of the three brushed it off easily, but it always took a huge amount of coaxing to bring Roderich out on their escapades, being the goody-good that he was.

The most fun Gilbert had had the whole summer, though, was on the very last day. Roderich had been down in the dumps, so Elizaveta concocted a plan that included stealing candy from the meanest store owner for miles around. Gilbert doubted anyone other than Mr. Petersen would scream and chase kids out of his store for looking around too long.

Their prize, candy, had become a rarity in their town, as no one really had any extra money to throw it about on sugar. Even Roderich's family, who were better off than most of the families in town, rarely had money to spare at the time. They couldn't even afford to have Roderich's music tutor come into town to hear the boy practice, or whatever it was he did, and had to stop having him come. Roderich had been upset the whole month after his parents decided that, and Gilbert finally started to realize how much music really meant to Roderich. Sure, Gilbert didn't quite understand, and he never really liked music as much as his brother Ludwig did, but he could still appreciate that it was something important to his friend.

So when Elizaveta decided to steal from the last place in town that sold candy, Gilbert couldn't have been more ecstatic. Mr. Petersen just so happened to love music as much as Roderich. As he thought about that statement, though, Gilbert realized it was probably impossible to find someone who loved music as much as his best friend.

He didn't know when, but at some point during the summer, Roderich moved up the ranks from "hated enemy", to "annoying boy that Elizaveta has to drag everywhere that I really do not like", to "best friend". Sure, Roderich wasn't exactly a beloved partner in crime like his sister, and he didn't appreciate when the two of them would stir up trouble in an already-stirred up town, but he was starting to grow on Gilbert. The incessant nagging became a daily routine, and if Roderich didn't have something to complain about that's when Gilbert knew something was wrong.

The last week of summer, Roderich hadn't complained about anything, even when Gilbert and Elizaveta had gotten in a fight with some older boys and both came home with black eyes and bloody noses. All Gilbert could hope was that the music book would make Roderich happy again. At least, as happy as Roderich could get.

He couldn't remember Roderich ever smiling when he was around him, and Elizaveta said the only way to see him smile was when he played music. That must have been a lie though, because Gilbert was in the Edelstein house once when Roderich was playing something dull on his piano and he wasn't smiling at all. Elizaveta just laughed and laughed at him, saying that one day he would realize that Roderich smiled all the time. Gilbert just rolled his eyes when he was told that, there was no way a boy like that ever smiled. All Roderich knew how to do was frown. He, however, was hoping to change that and see an _actual_ smile for once on those porcelain pale features. The way to that smile, though, included stealing from the grouchiest old man in their town.

.

"You go in!" Elizaveta insisted, shoving Gilbert towards the shop.

"No, you go!" Gilbert snapped, despite knowing it was really unawesome to get mad at a girl. Elizaveta _hardly_ counted as a girl though. He'd still only seen her in a dress with her hair brushed once.

The two of them were a few buildings down from their target, having been arguing and putting off going in for the past twenty minutes. Truth be told, they were both pretty scared of Mr. Petersen, but neither of them was going to admit that to a soul.

"He calls me a Jew lover," Elizaveta said, furrowing her eyebrows, "I don't know what it means but I don't like the way he says it."

Gilbert just nodded, knowing that Elizaveta had him now. The only reason Mr. Petersen didn't like him was his own fault. He'd been stupid enough to try and steal a bottle of alcohol from behind the counter a couple summers back. He'd earned himself the old man's hatred, a few firm slaps on the wrist, and a belt to his backside from his dad. Gilbert's dad had laughed afterwards about how stupid Gilbert had been trying to steal something and being so obvious about it, but he was still a stickler for rules. After the incident, every day for three weeks Gilbert had to help Mr. Petersen with whatever he wanted.

Eventually, Gilbert worked up his courage and went into the shop. While under the cruel gaze of the storeowner, he perused around, looking over this and that, glancing around some of the music books for anything that might be what Roderich would like. Gilbert assumed that Roderich would like any kind of new music, but he wanted to make sure it was the perfect book.

Obviously, this must have been strange, as the old man glowered at Gilbert, harrumphing and limping over to the younger German.

"What are you doing looking at these books?" he snarled, narrowing his eyes. "No one in your pissbucket of a family can play music."

Curling his nose, but brushing off the comment, Gilbert turned to the old man. "I was looking at it for a friend."

Mr. Petersen snorted in disdain, giving Gilbert the same expression he was receiving. "That Jew?"

"His name is Roderich, and he likes music so I thought I would get a book for him," Gilbert stated, not really wanting to deal with this.

The old man snorted again, snatching the book from Gilbert and not realizing Elizaveta had snuck into the store, going straight for the counter where the candy was kept. The younger German tried hard to keep his eyes off of her so he wouldn't blow her cover, which would be totally unawesome. Almost as unawesome as Mr. Petersen was being.

"I don't care what his name is, he is a filthy Jew and he does not deserve to be here, or have this book," the old man snapped.

Gilbert decided he had had enough of being treated like dirt and hearing Roderich be insulted. He grabbed the book of sheet music back from Mr. Petersen, ran to Elizaveta, grabbed her wrist and dragged her out of the store. They ran to the outskirts of town like the devil was on their heels, and really, a form of the devil was. Mr. Petersen chased after them for about a block, hollering at them the whole time to come back. Gilbert didn't even stop to check and see if his sidekick had grabbed any sweets.

.

As the two reached a distance they decided safe, they doubled over, gasping for breath. Gilbert glanced up at Elizaveta, whose cheeks were red from running, her hair more disheveled than usual, if it was possible. Elizaveta looked up at Gilbert as well, and they grinned at each other, and soon burst out in raucous laughter. Gilbert lightly shoved Elizaveta and she went tumbling to the ground, but not before she grabbed his wrist and pulled him down with her.

"You look so stupid when you run!" the girl mocked, lightly punching the blonde's shoulder.

Gilbert laughed, giving Elizaveta the same punch to her arm, as it had become a sort of twisted, but loving way of showing affection to each other. "Says you," he retorted, "you looked like you were going to cry. Were you scared?" he teased. Elizaveta punched him in the arm, not so lightly this time, and he laughed it off. "Alright, alright, Elizaveta, brave knight, is never scared."

Elizaveta nodded, a smug look on her face as she pulled a handful of candies out of her pocket, offering them to Gilbert. "And I'm especially not scared of fat old store owners."

Grinning, Gilbert took a piece of the candy, unwrapping it and gobbling it up like he hadn't seen food in weeks. The girl next to him did the same, watching as Gilbert pulled the book of sheet music out of his pocket. He frowned a bit, he had been in such a rush to get away from Mr. Petersen that he had shoved the book in his shorts pocket. The pages were crumpled and folded, and in general it looked like a sad thing, if things could look sad.

"Is that for Roderich?" Elizaveta asked.

Gilbert nodded, grinning at the girl as he looked up from trying to straighten the pages. "That old jerk was yelling at me because he didn't want Roderich to have it. I don't know why he was so mad about it, but I got it for him anyways. He owes me now."

"I'm sure he'll like it," the Hungarian girl said, laying down on her back and closing her eyes.

The German watched her a while before lying down too, blushing from how close they were. He could feel the heat radiating from her arm, and he couldn't help his grin growing wider. Normally, Gilbert would have begged and begged that they go do something, anything, to keep him from being bored. Something was different about that day though, he had been perfectly content to just sit with Elizaveta.

Sooner or later though, it had to end and that moment came when Elizaveta got to her feet, offering her hand to the boy next to her.

"Think we should surprise Roderich with a bunch of new girly music crap?" he asked.

Elizaveta laughed, and then took off in the direction of their houses; Gilbert could just barely hear her say "Last one there gets to carry everyone's books for the school year!" but even that was enough motivation for him to try and catch up with the girl, even though he was already pretty far behind.

"Why don't we just make Roderich carry all of our books!" he called after her and Elizaveta just shook her head.

.

That night, he, Elizaveta and Roderich all camped out on blankets in what little backyard the Edelstein household had, enjoying their last night of freedom and summer. Roderich was far too busy trying to ruin his already bad eyesight to notice Elizaveta and Gilbert whispering to each other. The moment Gilbert had held out the book of sheet music to his friend, Roderich hadn't put it down. All afternoon and all night he had been quietly humming to himself, going over the songs one by one, occasionally pantomiming playing his piano or violin.

The other two of their trio, however, were lying down as close as possible to each other, Gilbert's face redder than a cherry. Gradually over a couple hours, Elizaveta had moved close enough that she was resting her head on his shoulder, and they were holding hands.

To any of the boys older than Gilbert who had girlfriends, they would have laughed at him becoming so flustered over just having his hand held, but for a thirteen year old who never could have seen this in his future, it was a pretty big deal.


	3. Chapter 3

The first three months of school passed without incident. Elizaveta and Gilbert didn't get into fights with older students, and they made sure not to cause any trouble with people around town. Roderich fulfilled a boring schedule of go to school, go home, practice piano, and that was it. He didn't seem to want to hang out with Elizaveta and Gilbert anymore, despite still being best friends with Gilbert, he just claimed to not have enough time anymore for running around like a wild child.

"Honestly, Gilbert, how many times must I tell you," Roderich said, standing in the doorway. His arms were crossed in his usual pompous way, his eyebrow raised higher than the rim of his glasses. "I am too busy, run around with Elizaveta. I _know_ you like her." Gilbert laughed loudly, hoping that Roderich wouldn't think on it too much. "I am too busy," he said again, and shut the door in Gilbert's face.

Gilbert rolled his eyes and grinned after Roderich shut the door, knowing that really the brunet was just trying to focus on the music book he had gotten on the last day of summer. He just had a very stubborn way of telling his friend that he really appreciated the book of sheet music.

"I'll catch you later!" Gilbert yelled, knowing that Roderich had heard him when he earned a muffled shout in return.

Already, Roderich had ten of the fifteen songs included memorized, whereas Gilbert couldn't even remember the title of one of the songs. He found it all boring anyways, and would rather spend his afternoons off of school with Elizaveta. They didn't cause trouble anymore, but that was fine with Gilbert. The two of them had found new ways to be with each other without something bad happening, and it was really quite nice.

They would spend their afternoons walking through the outskirts of town, hopping back and forth over the creek that led to the pond, wandering into the forest and getting lost for a few hours, but never long enough for anyone to miss them. Gilbert really enjoyed their afternoons together, especially when they would lie down in the soft, cool grass and he could play with Elizaveta's silky locks of hair.

"What do you think would happen if we were separated?" Elizaveta asked on one of said excursions out of town.

Gilbert furrowed his eyebrows at the girl, wondering why she had said something so weird. "What do you mean, separated?" he asked.

"Like if one of us moved," she clarified, turning onto her side to face Gilbert.

He looked up at her with a little smile, damn she was gorgeous. Her hair had grown out, and every now and then she took to wearing a pair of her mother's earrings and a headband in her hair. "Well neither of us are going to move," Gilbert said.

The only definite downside to school was that it was turning Elizaveta more and more into a girl each day. She had to wear a blouse and skirt to school in order to be in dress code and not be sent home, and she even brushed her hair every morning.

It had become routine that every morning at eight o'clock Gilbert let himself into the Edelstein house, waiting in the parlor room, looking around at all of the nice, expensive things on shelves and tables. Even the floor looked expensive, and Gilbert was always careful to never get anything dirty or knock anything over.

"Are you done yet?" he would say, raising his voice so Elizaveta could hear him in the upstairs bathroom.

"No!" she would shout back.

"You look just fine with your hair all messy! We are going to be late to school!"

"I have longer hair now, I can't not brush it or it will become too tangled and I will have to cut it!"

Gilbert didn't mind that thought, really. Sure, Elizaveta looked _okay_, he guessed, with long hair, but he really liked when it was shorter. It was awesome shorter, no girl he'd ever met had short hair and it was really cute on her. Not that he would ever let her know that, that would be far too embarrassing.

Even on the weekends or days they didn't have school Elizaveta would be dressed nicely, it was almost as if her wardrobe of mud and grime had been thrown out and replaced with lace and silk. Gilbert didn't like the changes, but he supposed he'd have to get used to it. His father scolded him whenever he complained about the transformation, saying Gilbert should be happy that she was actually turning into a young lady instead of remaining like a little boy.

"She was more awesome before!" Gilbert would say at the dinner table. His mother would raise him an eyebrow, telling him not to raise his voice while they were eating.

"Be lucky," his father would respond. "She could have been a little boy for all we know, but she is actually a lady, who knew."

"_You_ knew, you laughed at me for thinking she was a boy."

"Yes, but she never acted like a girl, it certainly wasn't healthy for her."

Gilbert smirked, hoping he'd figured out a way to outsmart his father. "Does that make me a little boy?" he asked, giving the older blond a shit-eating grin.

"Yes," both he, his mother, and brother said in unison.

Gilbert was furious, and also embarrassed, standing up from his chair and slamming his hands on the table. "I'm not! I've kissed Elizaveta!"

His whole family turned to face him, all a mirror of the exact same expression of shock. "Oh?" his mother asked.

Gilbert sat down, and flushed a dark red, holding his head in his hands. He was dead now.

Yes, it was true. He and Elizaveta had taken what Gilbert considered to be the biggest step in their relationship they could ever take. After all, kissing _was_ the biggest step one could take in a relationship, right? At least, that's what his naïve thirteen-year-old self thought. Elizaveta seemed to think that a strange notion, but she didn't say anything against it.

.

The first day of October had been chilly, with a light touch of frost on all of the grass and plants. Gilbert could see his breath as he waited for Elizaveta and Roderich to meet him outside, but only Elizaveta came out of the house that day.

"Roderich is sick," Elizaveta explained, pulling on a cute hat her mother had made for her. It was the same green as he eyes, and in some places her hair stuck out wildly from the gaps in the yarn, and Gilbert could see the Elizaveta from summer.

During the time that school had been in, Gilbert realized exactly how fragile Roderich was. He couldn't run or play sports because he had some sort of lung disease. He couldn't stand up for too long because of something wrong with his blood. He couldn't wrestle or do anything too rough or he would break a bone. He always needed his glasses otherwise he couldn't see something an inch from his face.

Elizaveta said he'd always been fragile, ever since he was a baby, and that's why she took it upon herself to take care of him and protect him at all costs. Gilbert frowned, knowing that when his mother asked him to take care of Ludwig he'd thrown a fit and refused, whereas Elizaveta hadn't even needed to be asked to protect Roderich and yet she took care of him all day.

Back to the kiss though, which had been the highlight of Gilbert's thirteen years of life. They were on their way to school when Elizaveta turned to Gilbert, pulling him aside under the guise of wanting to talk to him.

"I have to tell you something," Elizaveta said.

Gilbert just nodded, waiting for Elizaveta to speak, knowing she would get mad if he interrupted her.

"I, well, I didn't study for the test today," Elizaveta said. Gilbert was taken aback, that wasn't exactly what he had been expecting to hear.

"So you want to cheat? We don't sit anywhere near each other, and we'll be late to school if we keep talking, we need to leave," Gilbert said, having taken on Roderich's goody-goodness, not wanting to be late for school.

Suddenly, there were warm lips pressed against his.

It only lasted for a few seconds before Elizaveta took off, running the rest of the way to school with a bright red blush on her face. Gilbert was left standing on the side of the road, standing there with a dazed grin, thinking over what had just happened to him. In the end, despite trying to rush Elizaveta to school, he ended up being thirty minutes late. Everyone started at him as he entered through the door like it was the best day of his life, and it was. Not even their teacher giving him a firm smack to both wrists with a ruler could deter him.

All day The Kiss was all he could think of, and he went home with bruised hands and wrists, and his ear bright red from being pinched and pulled at by their teacher.

"What happened to you?" his mother asked, standing up and going to her son, who couldn't have a care in the world.

"Got in trouble for being late," Gilbert responded.

"What do you mean you were late?" his father asked from the couch, actually looking up from his intense focus on the radio, listening to some speech or other by a guy named Adolf Hitler.

The conversation was dropped as Gilbert left to go to his room, falling onto his bed and smiling like an idiot. He'd had an _awesome_ day.

.

Around the fourth month of school though, in the middle of December, things took a turn for the worse. Roderich missed a whole week of school, and the teacher would scoff every day that he was gone. Children would growl under their breaths about having a Jew in the town, despite no one but the adults knowing what that word meant.

In the middle of the week Roderich missed, a bunch of older boys crowded Elizaveta, shoving her and calling her a "Jew lover" like Mr. Petersen always did. Gilbert, of course, rushed to her defense even though she didn't need any help and was probably about to beat the tar out of the four of them. Gilbert was roped into their accusations, pointing fingers and harsh voices. He tried not to get in a fight, remembering what he'd promised his mother just a few months ago, but they were aggravating him to much he couldn't help himself.

"You are a Jew lover, too," they snarled, shoving him backwards into Elizaveta.

"They were the reason we lost the Great War."

"My father says they are evil."

Gilbert launched himself at the nearest boy around them, barreling him down to the ground and pinning him there with his knees on his chest. He wailed on the other boy, mercilessly punching and hitting his face with both hands.

A group of other students started to gather around them, of both older and younger children. Gilbert could just barely hear Elizaveta shouting over his anger. He couldn't tell if she was cheering him on or trying to get him to stop. The fight, at least, he called it a fight, he didn't allow the other boy a chance to defend himself, lasted until the teacher came out and dragged a fuming, and still-kicking Gilbert off of the other boy. He was sent home straight away, along with Elizaveta.

"I don't understand," Gilbert snarled when they were about halfway home. "I don't know what a Jew is, I don't know what a Jew lover is, but I hate the way everyone says it. It's totally not awesome. How could they blame one person for making us lose the war? How could they hate someone just because their father says so? Some people are just… just…"

"Unawesome," Elizaveta interjected. Gilbert turned to her with a look of shock, and she just smiled at him, and that smile was enough to melt away his anger.

More and more after that day, the two started noticing that around town people sneered at Elizaveta, and even more so at Roderich any time he went out and about. Every day after school, Elizaveta and Gilbert acted as his guards, as the one day they'd left him alone he'd come home with a black eye and his mother had been none too happy about it.

Both Elizaveta and Gilbert had one of Roderich's arm, helping him up the stairs to his front door, and to the kitchen. Elizaveta went searching for their mother, while Gilbert found the first aid kid, looking through it for anything that said "use in case of black eye" or something similar. He wasn't a doctor or a mother, he had no idea how to care for a wuss baby being punched. All he could do was try and mock Roderich.

"Well, now you have some color on your face," he said. Roderich stayed silent. "It matches your eyes, I think you should always have a black eye." He got a stern glare from Roderich, and the blond grinned back at him, finally having gotten the reaction he wanted.

Elizaveta and Mrs. Edelstein walked downstairs a few moments later, the older woman taking the first aid kit from Gilbert, starting to treat Roderich's bruised cheek and brow. "I'm sorry I can't do any more," she muttered.

Gilbert had been furious, knowing that if he'd been beaten up for no reason his mother would have instantly gone to the school to complain and have the attackers punished. That night at dinner, the tension could have been cut with a knife, and his parents were obviously very aware. They sent Ludwig to finish his dinner in his room.

"Why did Roderich's parents let bad things happen to him?" Gilbert asked, frowning.

"Bad things are happening everywhere," his father responded. "The Jews just have it worse."

That word made Gilbert's blood boil, even his own father said it the way those boys, Mr. Petersen and the teachers did. "What's a Jew?" he asked.

Before his father could respond, his mother put a hand on his, smiling softly. "They are people, too." That was probably the strangest thing he'd ever heard come out of his mother's mouth, why did she tack on that "too"? None of it made any sense to Gilbert.

.

Spring and summer of 1928 passed without anything fun, or anything troubling happening. Elizaveta and Gilbert would still be together occasionally, but mostly Elizaveta stayed in the house with Roderich. It was rare that Roderich showed up to school after Christmas break, especially after he started receiving threats in his books and in his bag.

It was the first day back to school in 1928, and it was also the first time Gilbert had really seen Elizaveta in a long time, but Roderich wasn't with her.

"Is he sick again?" Gilbert laughed, raising an eyebrow. "Does he have another little fever? My mother would still send me to school, she is horrible."

"No, Gilbert," the brunette responded. "Roderich won't be coming back to school. He is going to stay home and learn, my mother will teach him."

"What do you mean?" Gilbert asked, grabbing Elizaveta's arm a bit harder than he should have, but not thinking about it. "Did he break a bone? Is his lung disease worse? What happened to him, Elizaveta? He is my friend, I want to know what happened to him."

"It's none of your business," Elizaveta snapped, slapping Gilbert's hand away from her arm and storming off to school, not looking back or slowing down once. The rest of the day had been tense between them; they didn't even walk home from school together.

Gilbert rarely saw Roderich or Elizaveta that year, both of them "too preoccupied" and obviously avoiding him. He hadn't known what he'd done, but it was really starting to get on his nerves. They were his best friends and they were just blatantly ignoring him. Sure, his dad wasn't exactly happy that he was still trying to keep his friends, but that didn't matter to him. When did his dad's opinion ever matter to him before?

.

The morning of the New Year, Gilbert was at the Edelstein house, banging on the door and demanding Elizaveta or Roderich come see him, both preferably. Which surprisingly, they both did answer, looking weary and like they hadn't slept in weeks. Gilbert frowned, not knowing what had happened to his friends, but not asking as they invited him in to have a cup of hot tea.

"What's wrong with you two?" he asked them. His question was avoided in favor about small talk of Roderich finishing the music book, and other such trivial things. Gilbert didn't care about any of that right then, he wanted to know what he'd done wrong so he could fix it.

After a few hours of silence, Roderich finally spoke. "Our mother was attacked on her way to work, and she was fired from her job. That is how she stays home to teach me." There was no explanation as to why, aside from the fact that she was a Jew.

Gilbert really hated that damn word. "What the hell is a Jew?" he yelled, glaring at his friends even though he didn't mean to.

Roderich fell silent, and Elizaveta took over the explanation for him, lowering her eyelids and her voice. "Roderich is Jewish, and so are his mother and father, it's a different religion, and some people don't like it," she said.

Gilbert didn't understand why, and it was just making him more and more angry, wondering why anyone could hate someone just because of a religion. Then he realized, in history lessons it always happened that way. Problems always started from someone not liking someone else.

He couldn't stand it; he stood up and hugged Roderich, despite the brunet's blatant shock. "I'll never hate you," Gilbert promised, holding Roderich close and closing his eyes.

.

The spring of 1930, Gilbert's father decided something that could not have made his world come crashing down faster. He heard the news, and ran from his house, not wanting to accept that it was going to happen. It couldn't have been happening. It all had to have been a dream, there was no other explanation for it, and life would never be so cruel. Gilbert's father had said the dreaded words of any child.

"We're moving," he said. "We're leaving, going to Berlin, and not coming back."

The blood had rushed out of Gilbert's face; he didn't know anyone in Berlin. Berlin was days away from their little down, days away from Elizaveta and Roderich. Berlin was the center of Germany, but it wasn't where Gilbert wanted to be. Didn't most families move _away_ from Berlin to escape the stuffiness of it? He didn't even consider that maybe his father had a better job there, or that his mother would have a better chance of having a job, it didn't matter to him. He didn't care if they lived in a mansion in Berlin, he didn't want to go and that was that.

But there was no escaping his father's words, or his decisions. Gilbert was going to Berlin whether he wanted to, no matter how much he protested. All he could think to do was see his friends one last time. He ran back into town, right up to the Edelstein house, pounding his fist on their door, knowing that someone had to be awake.

"Roderich!" he shouted. "Elizaveta!" There was no answer for a long time, until Elizaveta answered the door. Gilbert grabbed her wrist, trying to drag her out of her house. "We have to go do something fun!" he insisted, still trying to pull the brunette out of her house.

Elizaveta pulled her hand away from Gilbert, furrowing her eyebrows at him. "What do you mean? You are acting like a crazy person, Gilbert."

Gilbert looked down at his feet, examining his dirty shoes for a few seconds before looking back up at the girl. "I'm moving. Well, we, my family, we're moving. To Berlin." All he hoped was that he had made sense. When he met Elizaveta's eyes, he'd obviously made enough sense. Her whole expression had fallen, and she was giving him a hurt look.

"Is this a joke?" she asked, taking Gilbert's hand with both of hers. "Who will I go to school with now?" she asked.

The German shook his head, frowning. "We are leaving in a few weeks, just enough time to pack up, finish school, and go."

Elizaveta just nodded, obviously having accepted what was happening, leaning forward and softly kissing Gilbert, the first time in over a year. Both of them had dark red blushes on their faces when she pulled away, but she softly smiled at Gilbert, raising an eyebrow. "I'll find you in Berlin?"

Gilbert grinned and nodded, reverting to their first summer as he spat in his hand, and held it out to Elizaveta. She did the same, and they shook hands. "I'll make sure to look for you everywhere, so don't go flirting with any guys, alright?"

"The same can be said for you, Gilbert," Elizaveta scoffed, giving Gilbert a playfully exaggerated frown. "Don't meet any pretty girls and completely forget about me, alright? And make sure you don't find any new friends that are cooler than Roderich. He'll be upset to hear you're going."

"Where is he now?" Gilbert asked, trying to peer past Elizaveta into their pristine, white house. "Can I see him?"

"He is sick," Elizaveta responded. "He can write you a letter when he is better, after you've written one to us, of course."

Gilbert nodded, and gave Elizaveta a grin. "I'll make sure to; I can't exactly let you two have all the fun here without me. You have to tell me everything."

"And you have to tell me everything about Berlin," Elizaveta retorted.

She roped him into a tight hug, burying his face against his chest and closing her eyes. Gilbert froze for the first few moments, but then slowly responded, wrapping his arms around Elizaveta. He held her close, resting his cheek on the top of her head. He ran his fingers through the ends of her silky hair, when had it gotten so long? He had gone practically a whole year without his friends. He was amazed they were even still friends, and that Elizaveta still had feelings for him. All he could hear was his racing heartbeat in his ears, and he was certain the world had fallen silent for them.

.

Packing up his things, driving to Berlin, and moving into their new house there didn't seem all that bad. He could still feel Elizaveta's arms around his chest, her warmth pressed against his body. It was as though her silky hair was still between his fingers, and she was as close as a run across the street, and her smile would be there, forever in his mind.

* * *

A/N: Sorry that this chapter was a little rushed, and so long. I just really wanted to get out of them being in their little town and get to the part of the story that picks up some speed and really get the ball going. Thank you to everyone that has read this, I never expected just a little story to be so noticed in just five days!


	4. Chapter 4

The first thing Gilbert thought when he saw the new house was that it was the biggest structure he'd ever seen in his life. Even the Edelstein house couldn't compare, Gilbert knew he would have to tell his friends about this place, it was the most ridiculous building he had ever seen in his life. The outside of the house was a stark, pristine white, with some sort of brick roofing Gilbert didn't recognize. There were windows practically everywhere, and blooming plants lined the walkway to the door, giving the building a very welcoming feeling. Even the inside of the house was just as grand, already furnished with rugs and plush couches, a radio set between two of the couches. Gilbert could have sworn just the kitchen was the size of their old house. There was even an upstairs to the house, something Gilbert had never seen before aside from in the Edelstein house.

"Go run upstairs, boys," their mother said, looking around the house for herself. "There are two empty rooms set aside for you to pick between."

Gilbert took one glance at Gilbert, giving his brother his best shit-eating grin before tearing up the stairs. Ludwig followed on his heels, both trying to get the best room first. One overlooked the streets of Berlin from a huge window, and Gilbert could see around for miles, even if it required pressing his face against the glass. He ran to the other room across a small landing, looking around that room. It had more of a calmer atmosphere, overlooking the back yard of the house.

The discussion of who got what room wasn't such a hard one, Gilbert wanted the room overlooking the street. He'd already left an imprint of his face on the glass. Ludwig was content with the view of the garden and trees in the back.

"What a little pansy," Gilbert teased, pinching Ludwig's cheek in an attempt to be as annoying as possible. All he received in return was a swift smack to his hand and a half-hearted glare from his brother. From their view of the window, they could see their mother happy for the first time in what seemed like years.

Their father had led her outside to the quaint, peaceful backyard. A bench was set in the grass under a tree for her to sit and all around were flowers of all different kinds. A bird bath was set in one of the larger gardens, with stone steps leading up to it, and a few birds washed themselves in the clear water. Their mother warmly smiled, turning to hug their father.

Ludwig curled his nose and walked away from the scene, not wanting to bother with it really. He never was one for romance. Gilbert wasn't either, but watching the sweet scene unfold before him, he wondered if he could ever make Elizaveta smile the way his mother was right then. He'd already done so with Roderich, well, in a way. He didn't actually see Roderich smile, he still didn't know if Roderich could smile, but he had definitely appreciated the book of sheet music.

.

That night, their small family of four gathered around the dinner table, and Gilbert had never seen so much food in his life. At least ten plates with different types of food were laid on the table, and Gilbert's eyes grew wide. He sat down in his chair, waiting for his father to allow them all to eat, and he piled his plate high with as much food as he could grab.

Their dinner conversation was dull, just idle chatter to keep it from being completely silent.

"Have you written to Elizaveta and Roderich yet?" his mother asked.

Gilbert shook his head; the thought hadn't even crossed his mind once the whole day. "I'll do it tomorrow," he said.

"No you won't," his father said, and Gilbert looked up in confusion. Their mother seemed worried at first, raising a hand, as if ready to interrupt in case something went bad. Although, Gilbert had no idea what could have gone wrong in such a situation. "You have school tomorrow."

Both younger boys felt their excitement drop to the floor. Both had assumed that moving to Berlin meant no more school, despite there being even more schools in Berlin than in their town.

"You will have a tutor, and she will come to teach you every other day. She will stay for a few hours, and then she will leave. It will be very similar to school, only the school will come to you."

Gilbert didn't really know what a tutor was, but he knew that he liked the idea of not having to go to school every single day. Also, his only other classmate would be his brother, so he wouldn't have to deal with thirty other kids being smarter than him.

"Maybe you can write your letter after that," his mother suggested, her smile warm.

The table fell eerily silent, and Ludwig shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "May I be excused?" he asked, knowing when it was best to escape from a situation.

"Yes," their father responded. With a movement of his hand, he dismissed Gilbert, too. Both boys vanished to their rooms, exchanging small goodnights before entering their rooms and shutting the doors behind them.

Gilbert didn't know how long Ludwig stayed awake, or if he ever fell asleep that night, but there was too much on Gilbert's mind to fall asleep that night. With the faint fighting of his parents in the background, he watched the moon as it passed through the sky out of his window. He glanced down occasionally at the street, watching as people stumbled through the streets, laughing and generally having a good time.

He saw two men walking together, one holding a bottle of wine in one hand. His other arm was slung around a pretty girl who seemed to be laughing at everything he said. The other man had his arm around a girl's waist as well, and Gilbert was envious for a few moments. He wished he and Elizaveta could walk down the Berlin streets together, arm in arm, laughing with each other.

She would lean up on her toes as they arrived at their destination, and press a sweet kiss to his lips. He would put his hands on her waist, pulling her against him. They would remain like that for a few minutes until going into the house they owned together.

Gilbert shook himself out of his imagination when he heard something crash in the dining room. He sighed quietly, and crawled into his bed, knowing that his parents would fight for a few more hours before settling their problems, and it was better to just fall asleep and not hear it.

.

His and Ludwig's tutor was a nice, older lady who brought treats for them, even though it was their first time meeting. Her name was Mrs. Berlitz, her hair way graying at the sides near her temples, and she had an interesting taste of fashion that seemed fifty years too old, but it looked good on her. Gilbert really liked Mrs. Berlitz. She was plump, with a warm voice, and a nice face. They couldn't have asked for a better tutor.

Their first day of "school" was easy; Mrs. Berlitz simply put the both of them through little tests to see what they had already learned at school. Despite Gilbert being five years older, Ludwig did better in most of his subjects. Mrs. Berlitz, though, unlike the teacher where they used to live, just complimented on Gilbert what he did know.

"I do not believe in a bad student," she said, patting Gilbert's shoulder on her way out of the house. "Only bad teachers."

That afternoon, Gilbert had meant to write his letter to Roderich and Elizaveta, but he instead grabbed the bicycle his father had bought for him, and explored the local area of Berlin, just areas that were close to his house. He went to the shopping market, the school where he might have been going had they not had Mrs. Berlitz, the cafes and high quality clothing stores on the other side of their block.

Just like June eighteenth, 1927, May thirtieth 1930 changed Gilbert's life forever. As he approached the cafes, intending to stop and maybe buy a piece of cake, he encountered a rough patch of paved street, and was flung face-first over the handlebars of his bicycle.

People crowded him instantly, asking him all sorts of questions, but Gilbert couldn't hear them, in a way. He was hearing the words, but he couldn't understand them. He didn't even understand his own thoughts. Suddenly, the crowd was shoved aside, as an obviously self-important boy strode forward. He crouched next to Gilbert, helping him sit up, and giving him a few pats on the shoulder.

"Are you alright, _mon cher_?" the blond asked. His eyes were a stunning blue that could rival Ludwig's; Gilbert had never seen such blue eyes. "Oh, come now, you just fell. Stand up," he was instructing. The Frenchman hauled one of Gilbert's arms over his shoulders, grabbing the bike as well. "We will go to my apartment, I will fix you up."

Something in Gilbert's brain must have shut down; otherwise he would have shoved this guy off and insisted he was fine. However, despite all logic, he allowed himself to be helped along down the street, the other blond guiding Gilbert's bike along on his other side. As they approached a small complex of fancy buildings, the Frenchman left the bike in a rack of others, and then led Gilbert up a flight of stairs. He deftly pulled a key out of his pocket, unlocked the door and tossed it open, guiding Gilbert to an expensive-looking couch.

"Antonio!" the blond called, heading into the kitchen. "Get a cool towel for this poor boy, he had a nasty tumble off of his bike and hit his head."

There was no response from whoever this "Antonio" might be, and Gilbert just sat on the couch, not wanting to touch anything. He glanced back at the other man, who was tutting over a bottle of wine, reading the label closely.

"I don't know if you're old enough to drink, dear, but wine helps everything." Gilbert nodded, not wanting to say anything, either. "Antonio!" the blond called again, setting the wine bottle down. "Excuse me, _cher_," he said to Gilbert, and then disappeared down a hallway, his obviously expensive royal blue coat billowing behind him. Just a few moments later, he returned, the supposed Antonio behind him, clad only in underwear, his hair mussed and eyes tired.

He was whining like a little kid, and Gilbert raised an eyebrow at the exchange between the two of them.

"Francis, _amigo_, I was sleeping… you could have handled this on your own, no?" Antonio pestered, tugging at the sleeve of Francis' coat.

Francis, in return, raised a perfectly arched eyebrow at Antonio. "He is our guest; it is only decent you make yourself known. It would have better had you been in clothes, however I suppose he does not mind. Make sure he hasn't become mute, I will get drinks for all of us."

Gilbert spent the afternoon with Antonio and Francis, and only after thirty minutes in their apartment did he realize he really liked these two guys. Antonio and Francis were on a trip all around Europe, having come from Spain and France respectively, and wanting to see the world. They'd been in Germany for about a year, getting drunk every night and bringing home a new girl every hour. To Gilbert it all sounded like a fairy tale, something he hoped he could do one day.

The wine buzzed in his brain in a way he had never felt before, having never been allowed to drink at his house, and he felt like he was getting along with these older men splendidly. He called them "older", when really Francis was the oldest and he was only eighteen, barely two years older than Gilbert. Antonio was seventeen, just a few months older than Gilbert, so he didn't really count as older, or as a man.

Antonio, just as drunk as Gilbert, slung his arm around the German's shoulders, leaning against him heavily and laughing. He closed his eyes, humming in thought for a few seconds. "We should take him with us next time we head out, Francis…"

"Next time you head out?" Gilbert asked.

Francis nodded, delicately swirling the wine in his glass, contemplating the suggestion of bringing Gilbert along. "Yes, I suppose we could. But we should wait until he is at least a little older."

Gilbert huffed, sitting up and trying to look his tallest. "I'm old enough."

The two just laughed, and Francis stood up, offering his hand to Gilbert. "Come, we must take you back home now. Surely your mother is worried sick."

Gilbert stood up, and followed Francis out of his apartment. The blond led him down to his bike, and then down the street back to the cafes. They exchanged a few words of passing, and then Gilbert was on his way home. He should have expected that his mother and father would punish him for the wine on his breath and that he was home far later than he said he would be.

He was sent upstairs with no supper, and he went straight to sleep, a certain letter he meant to write completely forgotten.


	5. Chapter 5

_October 27, 1930_

_Roderich and Elizaveta,_

_Berlin is great, I really like it here. I have met two new friends, Antonio and Francis. Antonio is from Spain and Francis is from France. Ludwig and I don't have to go to school anymore, school comes to us! Her name is Mrs. Berlitz, and she is awesome. She is a nice old lady who brings us things she baked the night before. One time she brought in a whole chocolate cake, I don't think I had ever seen Ludwig drool so much since he was a baby. I'm sorry this has taken so long, I have been very busy, we even had class during summer, and it was horrible._

_I hope you are still practicing the music I so valiantly stole for you, Roderich._

_And I miss both of you, Elizaveta most, because Roderich is a whiny smelly brat._

_From,_

_Gilbert_

_._

Gilbert looked over the letter he had written for the fifth time that afternoon. All day he had been trying to write a letter to his friends back home, he couldn't believe he still called that crappy place home, Berlin was much better, but he just couldn't think of anything worth saying. Each sentence seemed forced, like he was trying too hard to still be friends with them. It scared him to think about it, but he guessed it was entirely possible that he wasn't friends with Elizaveta and Roderich anymore. They hadn't really seen each other the last two years, he didn't even know if they had completely changed over a summer.

Groaning in frustration, Gilbert crumpled the paper viciously in his hand. This letter just wouldn't do. He threw it in the growing mountain of scrapped letters. He pushed away from his desk, and went to flop over on his bed. His hand hurt now and so did his brain trying to think of something sincere to say, there was no point in trying to write another letter.

After a few minutes of self-pitying and moping, Gilbert forced himself to go downstairs, and put on his shoes. He glanced up, and was met with Ludwig's curious stare, but the younger of the two scurried back to his room. _Probably to read another dumb book_, Gilbert thought scornfully. Ludwig had absolutely no friends, and rarely ever left his room. When he did, it was to go into the backyard and read while their mother tended to her flowers.

Gilbert curled his nose at the idea as he hopped onto his bike and pedaled with all his might to where Antonio and Francis were staying. Francis tended to have something intelligent to say, and every now and then Antonio would come up with a good idea, so maybe they would know how to handle his letter situation. Besides, the only fun way to spend an afternoon in Berlin was getting drunk or wandering around the local stores with his two new friends.

As he pulled up to their apartment, Gilbert was greeted by Francis who was casually smoking a cigarette, leaning against the door. He always seemed so much older when he was smoking, the top two buttons of his pristine white shirt informally unbuttoned. Francis always reeked of maturity, despite only being eighteen.

"Antonio is, how shall I say, _busy_," he said, winking at Gilbert as he approached.

The German just nodded, taking up a nonchalant stance next to his French friend. They remained quiet for a while, Francis purposely turning his head away from Gilbert to exhale smoke, despite Gilbert claiming he could definitely handle the smoke and it didn't bother him at all. Finally having put his problems into words, Gilbert glanced at Francis, quietly sighing.

He hadn't even spoken before Francis smirked, raising an eyebrow. "Is someone in love? I would know that sigh anywhere."

"I am not!" Gilbert objected, not even sure why he was getting so worked up about it. There wasn't any denying that he really liked Elizaveta, but _loved_? "I just can't write a letter to my friends in the town we moved from. I can't say anything that sounds right."

Francis considered this for a moment, before dropping his cigarette and crushing it beneath his most likely very expensive boot. "Maybe you just aren't as close as you were. They might be feeling the same way, it's been nearly six months since you left, hasn't it? Have you contacted them before this?"

"No," Gilbert admitted. He could feel his throat closing up in shame. He really had meant to write to his friends, he just became distracted or never had enough time or anything worth writing.

"Just give it time, you'll think of something eventually. It's not as though they'll forget _you_," Francis teased, his expression playful.

Gilbert gave him a sharp, but light punch to the arm. The gesture instantly reminded him of how he and Elizaveta would act around each other, and he looked away, trying to not let Francis see his frown. The last thing he needed was to be teased about pouting.

After another long five minutes of silence, Gilbert turned to face Francis again, crossing his arms. "You said you "know that sigh anywhere", _you've_ been in _love_?"

"_Mon ami_," Francis sighed in disappointment, shaking his head. "I am from _Paris_, the city of love. Or have you never heard that before? Of course I have been in love, we all fall in love."

"What was she like?" Gilbert asked. Giving another long sigh, Francis closed his eyes. Gilbert had never seem him look so tranquil, and yet troubled at the same time. "You don't have to tell me," he quickly said, attempting to cover up his curiosity. What kind of a girl could have possibly made Francis fall in _love_? Every time he even thought of the word, Gilbert cringed. He was only sixteen after all, love was not his forte.

"Well," Francis began, shocking Gilbert with his low tone. "She was stubborn, but cute. I admired her courage most, always fighting off boys who teased her. She never put up with anything. When she started going to school, she hated wearing a skirt so she cut off all of her hair to try and pass as a boy, and nearly made her mother have a heart attack she was so horrified," the blond took a moment to laugh, his smile warm. "I had known her since she was a child; she was six when we met, just four years younger than me. She would have been so beautiful."

"Would have been…?" Gilbert cautiously asked, knowing this conversation was very quickly going downhill.

"Around when she was twelve, some boy in her school became ill with something our town had never experienced. Within days, it had spread to anyone who was attending, her included. The local doctor claimed there was nothing he could do, that medicine would have to come in from Paris to do anything about it. The best part was, the medicine _did_ come from Paris, in time to vaccinate the children and get them healthy again."

Francis took a shaking breath in, and then pulled another cigarette and a matchbook from his pocket. He lit the cigarette and languidly inhaled. The Frenchman's shoulders began to shake, and Gilbert stayed silent. He had no idea how to react in such a situation, Francis had always seemed so suave and cool, never letting anything get to him. Obviously the subject of this girl was different.

"You really don't have to continue," Gilbert said softly.

Despite being told so, Francis continued his story. "The only problem was that more and more children were still being diagnosed with the disease. Only so much medicine had been delivered, and the townspeople could only pay so much to get more medicine. She still hadn't been vaccinated, and her condition was getting worse. I wasn't allowed to see her, told that despite being sixteen I was still susceptible." His bright blue eyes began to cloud over, tears lined the edges of his eyes, and Gilbert was completely taken aback. He was amazed that Francis trusted him with these emotions.

"The hospital was down to the last couple of vials of the vaccine. There were exactly three doses left, with four children who needed the vaccine. She refused to be vaccinated, saying that the others needed it more than she did. She died early in the morning, supposedly very peacefully. I never got to see her after that, but three hours after she died, a man with a car and more medicine arrived.

"I realize now that even if he had gotten there three hours earlier, there would have been nothing to do, it would have been too late anyways. But, it had been easier to take my sadness out on someone than to cry over her. I didn't even attend her funeral I had been so upset." When he realized he had started to cry, Francis laughed, wiping his eyes discreetly. "I apologize, normally I do not cry in front of my friends."

Gilbert nodded, lowering his gaze from Francis, knowing the last thing he needed was a curious sixteen-year-old's piercing gaze on him.

"So?" Francis asked, glancing at Gilbert, who _didn't_ jump in surprise, that would be unawesome.

"So?" he asked back, trying to figure out what Francis was playing at. At least he seemed a bit better now, having calmed down once more.

"I told you my story; let's hear yours, shall we?"

Gilbert groaned, slumping forward and burying his face in his hands. "I told you, Francis, I'm not in love, and I never will be. I'll be like you and Antonio, not worrying about some girl back home to chain me down."

Francis laughed, patting Gilbert on the shoulder in a consoling way. "Ah, Gilbert. There is so little you know, even about yourself."

.

Spring of 1931 had been the most stressful time Gilbert had ever lived through. Ludwig agreed with him, but neither said anything to their parents.

Every night, dinner would begin normally, with small talk about the weather, what the boys had learned in school, what Gilbert, Antonio and Francis had done that day, and all sorts of other things. Their mother would say something, and within a second their father would be in a blind rage. Both boys would excuse themselves, and go to their rooms. Despite shut doors and heads stuffed under pillows and blankets, they could hear their parents fighting for hours.

Some nights their father would leave and go to a bar, and come home drunk. Their parents would fight for a few more hours, sometimes no one in the house slept for a whole night, leaving tensions even higher the next day. Ludwig made sure to never show how upset he was, but Gilbert could tell from the smallest details. A hair out of place, the tiniest hint of purple under his eyes, a shirt not all the way tucked in.

Sometimes their parents would even fight when Mrs. Berlitz was there for tutoring, but the kind old lady just continued with what she was supposed to do. On those days, she always taught about happier things, or things that interested the boys more, to take their minds off of things for at least a couple of hours.

"What do you want to be when you grow up, Gilbert?" she asked one day, her ancient smile jubilant as ever.

Gilbert felt riled at the "grow up" part; he was seventeen, and plenty grown up. "I don't know," he answered. "I guess I could join the army."

"An honorable career, Gilbert," Mrs. Berlitz said. "What about you, Ludwig?"

"I would like to repair things, like planes and trucks," he mumbled, barely glancing up from the book about the Great War he was reading.

"That sounds lovely," the old lady cooed.

Something broke upstairs, presumably a vase or something of the sort, followed by loud shouting. The three fell silent, lessons and careers forgotten once again as they listened to the screams barely muffled by heavy doors.

Dinner that night was silent, aside from the occasionally clink of silverware hitting the plates, or someone asking someone else to pass the bread, or whatever else it was they needed. Gilbert eyed his parents suspiciously, just waiting for something to happen between them, another fight, more screaming, anything.

"Boys," their mother said, looking up for the first time the whole meal. "Your father and I have decided to send you away for the summer."

"What!" Gilbert shouted, leaping out of his chair indignantly. He, Francis and Antonio had already made plans. "You can't do that!"

"Sit down!" their father yelled, causing the whole house to fall silent. Gilbert slowly sat back down, his heartbeat thrumming in his ears. "We have every right to send the both of you away, and that's what we're doing. It's just for a summer. You will stay with my father in his home."

Gilbert clenched his jaw, wanting nothing more than to run out of the front door and beg Francis and Antonio to take him to France and Spain as soon as possible. He refrained from speaking, his hands balled into fists under the table. Ludwig gave him a kick to the leg under the table, and a firm glare. The older of the two brothers exhaled slowly, knowing that getting angry wasn't what awesome people did, unless it was for a good reason.

"We feel it is better for both of you," their mother said. "You leave on a train in three days, and you won't be back until September. Take all of your clothes, and whatever else you want to bring with you. You won't be able to mail any letters, Gilbert, so if you want to send something to Roderich and Elizaveta you had better do so quickly."

"He will do no such thing," their father snarled.

Ludwig's face paled, and Gilbert frowned, looking away from his parents. This was what he had been waiting for the whole evening, and despite being correct, it didn't make him feel any better.

"He can write to his friends if he wants to, Rüdiger," their mother snapped.

"May I be excused?" Ludwig asked, barely waiting for an answer before he left the table, not even half of his dinner finished.

"May I be excused also?" Gilbert asked.

"No," their father snapped, glowering at the younger German. "You will stay here and listen to me. You cannot be thinking about that Jew or his friend anymore. They are a bad influence; surely Mrs. Berlitz has taught you the scourge that is the Jewish race."

"She never said anything about that; she said it was good for me to have all sorts of friends."

A very visible blood vessel appeared on his father's forehead, and Gilbert instantly knew he had said something wrong. He stood, and backed away from his father a step. The taller blond rose as well, his arms crossed behind his back.

"Repeat to me what you just said."

"I said that Mrs. Berlitz told me it was good to have all kinds of friends," Gilbert could hear his voice shaking and growing weaker with each word. His father seemed calm, yet he had never been more terrified in his life.

"Please, Rüdiger, calm down," his mother said, standing as well. "Just let him go upstairs, I will talk to him later."

"And tell him what, Maria?" his father snarled, turning his glare to their mother. She motioned for Gilbert to run upstairs, and he did so without another second thought. He shut the door to his room as quietly as he could, locked it, and slid to the floor.

Gilbert clutched at his chest, certain that his heart would spring from it at any moment. He had never been so terrified in his life. Even running away from Mr. Petersen with a stolen music book couldn't compare to the terror he had just felt. He stumbled to his bed, collapsing onto it and pulling the blankets up over his head, not bothering to undress, just wanting to shut out his parents' fighting.

.

When Thursday of that week rolled around, Gilbert grudgingly got into the car that his father was driving. His mother was in the seat next to their father's, and Ludwig was in the back with Gilbert. The ride was tense all of the way to the train station, despite their mother attempting to lighten the damp moods everyone had.

"The countryside there is beautiful, and he really is a nice old man. Do be respectful to him; I hope you will treat him the same way you do Mrs. Berlitz. However, don't go into his garden, he can be quite protective of it."

No one responded.

The car full of the boys' things was unloaded, and the boys themselves were led onto the train by a man in a very official looking suit. He and Ludwig were lead towards the front of the train, and despite being upset; Gilbert couldn't help but admire the sights around him. He had never seen a train before, but he never expected a train to look as grand as this one did. The carpeting on the floor was soft, and the seats were comfortable, with just enough room for them to stretch out and sleep when night fell.

Their mother waited outside the window of where they were seated, waving to them and smiling solemnly. Their father stood behind her, his usual frown plastered onto his face. Gilbert only waved once, and then stretched out on the plush bench, closing his eyes.

Francis and Antonio hadn't been too upset that he was leaving; both of them were very understanding about the whole situation, knowing that Gilbert's home life had been deteriorating at an alarming rate.

"It's probably best if you left for a while," Francis said.

"_Sí_!" Antonio chimed, his smile as bright as usual, a pleasant sight after dark frowns for months. "I'm sure your parents will work everything out, sometimes adults just need time alone to do that."

"Don't act like I'm not an adult!" Gilbert objected.

Both older men burst into laughter. Gilbert soon followed, despite trying to be angry at them.

"The train is leaving and mother is waving at us," Ludwig said. "You should wave back; let her know that you are not mad at her."

"I'm _not_ mad at her," Gilbert said. He made no hint of moving to wave at his parents. He had already suffered through enough goodbyes; he didn't want to deal with any more. "I'm awesome; she should know I'm never mad at her."

Ludwig just sighed at his brother, finally sitting down as the train picked up more speed and left the station. "I don't know what happened at dinner that night, but mother has been very upset since."

"Yeah, well I have been, too," Gilbert snapped. Immediately he realized his mistake, but didn't bother to rectify it. Ludwig was a big boy; he could handle a moody older brother.

After a few hours of silent travel, Gilbert sat up with a sigh. "I'm sorry, Ludwig, that wasn't awesome. I just want to be home right now." Gilbert laughed quietly when he saw that Ludwig had fallen asleep, his cheek pressed against the glass of the window. "We'll be fine, I promise…" Gilbert muttered, laying back down and closing his eyes again. There was nothing to do but sleep until the train arrived at their stop.

* * *

A/N: The girl Francis talks about is Joan of Arc but a modern version I guess, but not quite. The plan was to have a whole different story centering around the two of them but then I decided to change the pairing, however France will still have his own story in the future. Thanks to all for over 300 views just on To Save You!


	6. Chapter 6

Gilbert woke up halfway through the train ride, having been stirred awake by a dream about Elizaveta. He'd caught himself and tried his hardest to wake up before it turned into one of _those_ dreams, but it was nice to see her. He wondered briefly how much she had changed since he had last seen her; the image his subconscious had shown him had been something similar to her face plastered onto an older girl's body. Gilbert wondered if her hair was still long or if she had gotten sick of it and chopped it all off with kitchen scissors, he didn't doubt that she would do something like that.

Ludwig was still asleep across from him, but was gradually sliding down from where he had fallen asleep earlier. Gilbert snickered, wishing he had a pen to draw all over his brother's face. Thinking twice about it though, he assumed that drawing and writing on his brother's face was probably not the best first introduction to his grandfather.

Gilbert didn't even know he _had _a grandfather. Obviously he _knew_, but he didn't know the old man was still alive and kicking. If he was his grandfather on his father's side, he would probably be a mean old man who hated children and didn't want anything to do with them ever.

"What a great way to spend a summer," Gilbert grumbled to himself. He stared out of the window, watching everything as it passed in a blur. What kind of old man lived in the middle of nowhere with nothing and no one else around? What if he fell down and had a heart attack? What a great way to die just because he isolated himself.

"Almost there," a woman said as she passed by Gilbert and Ludwig. "Maybe another hour or so left until we arrive. Would you like any snacks or something to drink?"

Gilbert shook his head, but gave the lady a polite smile, knowing it was the awesome thing to do. The lady continued on her way, and Gilbert sighed. Another hour of nothing to do. He supposed he could fall back asleep, but he wasn't tired anymore. For a brief moment he wished he could wander around the train, but the last thing he needed was to wander away from Ludwig.

.

He must have fallen asleep at some point, due to after what seemed like only five minutes, he was being shaken awake by Ludwig. His little brother backed away when he saw that he had woken up, offering a hand to him.

"Fix your hair," he said. "Mother says that he is a man who appreciates neatness."

Gilbert scoffed, tousling his hair a little in an attempt to fix the problem, but really just making it worse. "Well then he'll love _you_, won't he?" the older boy teased, grinning at Ludwig.

Ludwig gave a slow roll of his eyes. "And he will not like you."

Laughing loudly, Gilbert tossed his arm around Ludwig's shoulders, strolling to the exit of the train and standing on the platform, waiting for their grandfather. He hadn't even been told what the old man looked like, but when he saw a blond head towering over everyone else and striking azure eyes slowly moving through the crowd, Gilbert just _knew_.

The only definite sign of him being an elderly man, enough to be a grandfather, was that he walked with and leaned heavily on a cane. His hair was long, down to his shoulders, with just one simple braid. With broad shoulders and a confident, strong stride, despite the cane, he approached the boys. He held out his hand, and Gilbert was the first to take it.

"Joachim Beilschmidt," he said, his voice low and growly, "I apologize that we had to meet under such conditions."

"Gilbert Beilschmidt," the younger of the two responded, feeling silly for using his last name, and even more awkward for being so formal around his family. When he had met his aunts when he was ten there had only been warm hugs and kisses all around.

"You must be Ludwig," the old man said, his tone softening. "You are not much different than I imagined you being." He held out his hand and Ludwig gave it a firm shake. Joachim lingered for a few moments, before turning around and walking towards where the luggage was being unloaded. "Come, boys, it is a long drive back to my house."

Gilbert resisted the increasing urge to let out a groan. They'd been on a train for nearly one whole day, and now they were expected to sit for even longer in a boring car ride.

"What is your house like?" Ludwig asked, remembering his manners, observing that Gilbert had left his back in Berlin.

"It is nothing grand," Joachim said, pausing in his walk to help a little girl get off of the train. Gilbert beamed; this old guy was getting more awesome by the minute. "Do not expect an old haunted mansion, it is just a house. There is a nice room where you can read if you like, with lots of windows, and it looks out over the gardens."

The word 'read' had caught Ludwig's attention, and despite his blank face, Gilbert could see the spark in his eyes. "Do you have many books?" he asked.

Joachim nodded, waiting by the pile of luggage and allowing the boys to go searching for their things. "Yes, a whole room full of books. Do you like to read, Ludwig?"

"Yes," Ludwig responded.

"What kinds of books?"

"Any I can get ahold of."

Gilbert snorted at the exchange; the two really were too alike. Already they'd found something they could do together. Gilbert could see it now; they would both sit inside, Ludwig curled up in his usual reading position. Joachim would be across from him in a chair, both silently reading. Gilbert was going to be bored out of his mind at this place.

"What do you like to do, Gilbert?" Joachim asked after a few moments of hushed talking with Ludwig. "Is there anyone special back in Berlin?"

"Not in Berlin, no," Gilbert answered, a dark red blush creeping up the back of his neck. "She lives where we used to live. I don't read, if that's what you're wondering. I like to spend afternoons with my friends."

Joachim nodded, guiding the boys out of the train station once they had gathered their things. "What sort of friends are they? Hopefully they are not bad influences."

"My friends are awesome!" Gilbert objected, sending a sharp glare to the back of Joachim's blond head. "They are from France and Spain, just visiting in Berlin."

"Do you boys go to school?" Joachim asked, changing the subject when he noticed Gilbert was far too stressed for such a sensitive topic.

"We have a tutor," Ludwig answered. "Her name is Mrs. Berlitz, she is very nice to us."

Gilbert snickered, giving Ludwig an impish-older-brother look, and the younger's face flushed. "One time she brought in cake, and Ludwig drooled everywhere. He was like a dog begging for food," he teased.

"I was not," Ludwig hissed, giving Gilbert a glare.

Joachim quietly chuckled, and his grandsons' eyes widened at the display of amusement. "Then I will have to make a cake sometime for you boys, won't I?"

Ludwig's eyes lit up, and Gilbert snickered.

.

As Joachim had said, the house where he was staying was nothing special, but it suited an old man. The building was quaint, with flowers littered everywhere. Gilbert briefly wondered how such a warm old man was related to his father and not his mother. Two large dogs greeted them at the fence when they approached, both very friendly creatures. Ludwig fell in love with them the moment he saw them, he had always liked animals more than Gilbert.

Joachim gave them a quick tour of the house, pointing out where everything was, and then showing the boys to their rooms. Gilbert had a perfect view of the forest a couple miles out from the house, and Ludwig had a view of the garden, which made him happy.

"You room is excellent for seeing animals leave the forest to eat and play," Joachim said, one hand on Gilbert's shoulder as he looked around. "There are a few trails that go back into the forest, and if you are having a bad day it is nice to go out and walk them. Just be sure that if you do, you're back before dinner."

Gilbert nodded, going over to the large windows overlooking the forest as Joachim left to talk to Ludwig. Despite not having anything in common with the old man, Joachim seemed to like him well enough for the time being. The only thing Gilbert didn't like was that he was very strict on times.

"Every morning you will wake up by nine am," he said in the car ride from the train station. "Breakfast is served at nine thirty sharp. Eat what you will for lunch, but know that dinner will be served at six thirty every night. Lights must be out by eleven each night. There are clocks in every room of the house, do not try to say you didn't notice the time."

Ludwig nodded, paying very close attention to every word that was said. If he'd had paper and pen, he probably would have written it all down in the car. Gilbert didn't doubt that somewhere now that he was settled he had the schedule written. On the other hand, Gilbert didn't really care all that much. Eventually he would adjust to the schedule, but after a year of sleeping in until noon, since Mrs. Berlitz didn't arrive until one, he couldn't be expected to wake up by nine in the morning right away.

Gilbert very much preferred slow, lazy mornings. Heat began to pool comfortably in his stomach, a dopey grin on his face as he pictured mornings with Elizaveta. She would wake up early, like always, but would stay with him because she was awesome like that. When he eventually woke up, they would share slow, lazy kisses, despite morning breath. She would get up after a while, and make breakfast for them both, and they would sit outside and eat it together. His grin grew, attracting Joachim's attention.

"Gilbert, wipe that smug look off of your face," he said. "I don't need any day dreamers while I'm trying to talk to you."

The younger German nodded, and once again resumed feigning paying attention to the old man. He really didn't care at all about what he had to say. If he were still in Berlin, he, Antonio and Francis would be drinking wine and getting drunk out of their minds. Francis would attempt to pick up some girl, and succeed, whereas Antonio would try the same thing, and fail.

.

In spite of Gilbert claiming to not care about the schedule, right at six thirty he was in the dining room, taking a seat and waiting for dinner to be served. Ludwig sat across from him at the small, round table, the book he had been reading all day tucked away under his chair for the time being. Tantalizing smells wafted from the kitchen, making Gilbert shift impatiently in his chair.

"I thought you said six thirty sharp!" Gilbert said, raising his voice.

Ludwig gave him a horrified look, but from the kitchen they just heard Joachim chuckle for the second time. "You're right," he responded. "I did say that, but I have been making something special for you boys."

Gilbert snickered as he heard a very light 'cake?' from his brother, but didn't say anything about it. Within a couple of minutes, Joachim had set out dinner before the two boys, and allowed them to grab whatever they wanted. The dinner conversations were dull, mostly about how they liked their rooms, what it was like to be away from Berlin, and the books Joachim had.

"I have already have a stack of books in my room I am meaning to read," Ludwig said.

Joachim nodded, and then turned to Gilbert. "Your brother says you want to go into the army, Gilbert. I have some books about the Great War you might enjoy. They are quite thrilling, in my opinion. At least try to read one of them."

Gilbert just nodded, continually keeping his mouth full of food so he wouldn't have to say much. Regardless of not being interested in any of what was being said, at least there was no fighting.

After dinner had been cleared, Gilbert had to clean all of the plates; Joachim sat them down at the table again. He disappeared into the kitchen for a while, and then returned with a small, but delectable-looking cake. The corners of Ludwig's mouth turned up just enough to be noticed.

"Thank you, grandfather," he said.

"Yeah, thanks," Gilbert responded. Joachim had seemed harsh and cruel, with too many rules, but really he wasn't all that bad, in Gilbert's opinion.

"I am not the best chef, but if you complain you'll run around the house fifty times," Joachim threatened, but in a way that neither of the boys were scared.

That night, Gilbert stretched out on his bed, staring at the boring ceiling above him. From down the hallway, he could hear Joachim snoring up a storm, but that was it. There was no screaming, no fighting, and no sounds of anything breaking. It was strange to him, to have a house be so quiet.

.

Within a month of staying at Joachim's house, Ludwig had read nearly all of the books the old man had to offer. Gilbert had all of the trails and pathways in the forest memorized, and even knew which ones to avoid at certain times. He had finally made friends with the two dogs, Bruno and Kurt, although they both still preferred Ludwig.

Sometimes he would help Joachim in tending to his gardens, repeating to himself that it was so when he bought a house for Elizaveta he could also plant beautiful gardens for her. He really hated being out in the sun so much, and some part of him always got burned by the sun. He didn't mind too much though, Joachim had all sorts of weird medicine to make burns hurt less.

Ludwig, unlike Gilbert, helped indoors, mostly in the kitchen. He was now the one to cook breakfast every morning for the three of them, and sometimes he would make lunch for everyone.

"Aw," Gilbert teased, grinning at Ludwig as he set out breakfast one morning. "Look at you; I'm sure you'll make a great husband someday. Any girl would fall head over heels for a boy who can _cook_. You're also quiet, and nice, and you-"

"If you want to eat breakfast, Gilbert, it would be better for you to shut up," Ludwig snapped, his entire face and neck red from embarrassment.

Gilbert laughed so hard that tears came to his eyes; he wiped at the corners of his eyes and then stuck his tongue out at his brother, oh-so-maturely. "Oh, you know it's true, you're just embarrassed."

"And what about you, Gilbert?" Joachim asked, looking up from his cup of coffee. All of the blood in Gilbert's face ran for the hills, his whole expression falling, Joachim knew exactly how to turn the teasing from Ludwig to Gilbert. "You better be nice to Elizaveta when you get married."

"Shut up!" Gilbert snapped, the blood returning with a vengeance in the form of a scarlet blush.

"She seems like the type to not put up with anything, so it would probably better in the long run for you if you learned how to cook now," Joachim said. "But at least you can make her happy with lots of pretty little gardens and flowers."

Gilbert sank in his chair, hiding behind his food as usual; making sure his mouth was always full and only answering to yes or no questions. Joachim was really awesome sometimes, but really, really unawesome other times.

That night when Gilbert was awake in bed, listening to the still-strange silence of the house, aside from Joachim's snoring, all he could think about was Elizaveta. A year had passed since he had last seen her and he didn't really know how to feel about that. What if he never saw her again? The thought made his stomach turn, but he realized that it was entirely possible the two would never meet again. After all, once he was eighteen, Francis and Antonio planned to go back to France and Spain, and he was dead set on going with them.

He didn't like to think about it, but he supposed it would be easier to get over her now than when he was in Paris having to turn down all of the pretty ladies.

"I keep talking like she's dead or something," Gilbert muttered to himself.

.

The next morning he was rudely awakened long before the sun had risen by someone's rough hand. He rolled over onto his stomach, and buried his head under his pillow.

"Go away," he grumbled.

"Get up, Gilbert," Joachim said. "We have to head into town to buy food. Bring a pen and paper, if you want to mail something to Elizaveta there is a mail shop in town."

Gilbert sat up instantly, smacking the back of his head against Joachim's forehead, he just snorted and hobbled away, rubbing his forehead. The blond rolled off of his bed, clutching the back of his head for a good ten minutes before finally getting to his feet and getting dressed. As Joachim said, he snatched a pen and paper from the table that faced the windows, hastily scribbling down a few paragraphs before running to the kitchen as fast as he could. He grabbed an envelope and sealed it, then met his grandfather outside.

"Why isn't Ludwig coming?" Gilbert asked.

"I wanted to pick up some new books for him; I know his birthday is soon. It wouldn't be much of a surprise if he came with us and picked out books for himself," Joachim said. "I left a note for him that we would be back by lunch time, and we'll eat breakfast in town."

"How far away from town are you?"

"Only a little while, Gilbert. What did you write to Elizaveta?" he inquired as he got into the driver side of the car, gesturing to the letter Gilbert had in his hands.

"That's none of your business!" Gilbert snapped, already blushing. He really hadn't written much, but he figured it was just enough. Hopefully his friends still lived in the same house, and didn't hate him for not writing sooner. Joachim's mouth turned up just a little at the corners as he drove out of his driveway and down the rough street. Gilbert clutched the letter in his hands, watching as the sun began to peek over the horizon as his grandfather drove.

The town Joachim drove to reminded Gilbert of the one he used to live in before Berlin. There were shops here and there, selling various things, with a couple of houses dotting the surrounding streets. Joachim pointed Gilbert in the direction of the place that dealt with mail and letters, and then showed him where he would meet Gilbert afterwards.

Gilbert, restraining himself, simply walked to where he was directed to. Having the letter sent was easier than he thought it would be, and the lady handling it seemed very nice.

"Who is your letter to, young man?" she asked.

"My friends where I used to live," he responded.

"Well, I'm sure they will be very happy to hear from you. They should get the letter in about a month, okay?"

Gilbert cringed at the thought of his friends having to wait even longer before they heard from him, but he supposed it could have been worse.

After the letter was put in a pile of others letters that were to-be-mailed, Gilbert wandered around the town for a bit, knowing his grandfather wouldn't be done with shopping for groceries and books in under thirty minutes. A girl with long, flowing coffee-brown hair ran by Gilbert, and his heart leapt into his throat. That couldn't have been… but it had looked so much like her.

"Elizaveta!" Gilbert called, his serious features shattered and replaced by a grin. "Elizaveta, wait!" he yelled, turning to catch up with her.

She didn't stop though. Instead, the girl who was very much _not_ Elizaveta was greeted by a man much taller than Gilbert. He narrowed his eyes, and Gilbert turned away in shame, his ears burning. What kind of person couldn't recognize when someone wasn't their childhood best friend?

The Beilschmidt shook his head, solemnly trudging to where he was supposed to meet Joachim. The elderly man was already there, and Gilbert was met with a deep frown.

"And where were you?" he asked sharply.

"I thought I saw someone I knew," Gilbert said. "But I realize now that it was stupid of me to think it was her, she probably doesn't even know this place exists."

Knowing instantly who 'her' was, Joachim raised an eyebrow, his tone softening into a more teasing one. "You mean Elizaveta, don't you? Did you confess your undying love to her in that letter?" he asked.

"I-I did not, so shut up about the stupid letter!" Gilbert snapped, his sour mood long gone.

.

_September 1931_

Elizaveta stood panting in her front yard, short of breath after chasing off a group of older boys who were causing a fuss in the yard. They were yelling things, things Elizaveta would rather not repeat, to the family inside. Everyone was used to the occurrence by now, and it didn't bother anyone, but just because Roderich told her it was fine didn't mean she wasn't going to kick the bullies' asses.

As she finally recovered her breath, Elizaveta glared at the neighbors across the street that had moved into the once-Beilschmidt occupied house. Every time their youngest son ran outside, Elizaveta expected to see Ludwig with Gilbert chasing after him, playing war or knights or some other stupid boy thing. They always stared and made a scene whenever she chased off people who were horrible to her family, but she never was mean to anyone outside of the select few who decided it would be a good idea to torment her frail brother.

She watched as the mailman spat on the walkway to their front door, and then tossed the pile of letters at her. After he had moved on, and the neighbors had gone inside, Elizaveta grabbed the envelopes. They rarely got any mail anymore, and Roderich had long given up on a letter from Gilbert, but she knew he would write. He had _promised_. Elizaveta skimmed the mail over three times, not seeing anything noteworthy.

The fourth time she looked over the mail very carefully, reading each address and name it had been sent from as she entered the house. One letter caught her attention, and she nearly dropped everything.

"Roderich!" she yelled, bursting through the front door and then kicking it shut.

She tossed the other mail onto the parlor room couch, and then ran to Roderich in the piano room where he was very focused on his music, one of the songs from the book Gilbert had stolen. "Roderich!" she repeated, snapping him out of his trance.

"Elizaveta, please, how often have I asked you not to interrupt me?" Roderich scoffed, straightening himself and then resuming the position to continue playing.

"Get off your damn high horse for once, Roderich!" Elizaveta snapped. She held the letter from _Gilbert Beilschmidt_ in front of his face, a wide smirk on her own. "I _told_ you he would write."

Roderich's eyes widened and he felt as though his heart had completely stopped beating. "Gilbert…?" he said softly, reaching forward and taking the letter from Elizaveta. "I thought he had forgotten about us…"

"Well!" Elizaveta said, out of breath again from excitement. "Open it and read it already!"

Roderich just barely smiled, his hands shaking as he opened the letter from his best friend, unfolding it and laughing quietly at the still-as-horrible handwriting. "He really is such a slob," he muttered.

"Just read the damn letter," Elizaveta said.

.

_Elizaveta and Roderich,_

_I am not in Berlin right now, I am at my grandfather's house. Ludwig and I had to take a train ride to a station in the middle of nowhere, and then a car ride to his house. He has two dogs and lots of books, so Ludwig was right at home the instant he stepped out of the car._

_My grandfather's name is Joachim, and he's _awesome_. He might be as awesome as I am, although that's a pretty hard feat to achieve. I have made two new friends in Berlin, Francis and Antonio. Francis has promised to take me to Paris, and then Antonio wants to take both of us back to his hometown in Spain. He says it is not as lively as Paris, but it isn't a very long car trip to the closest buzzing city._

_I would write more, but my grandfather is taking me into town today, and I have no time left. I'm sorry I didn't write while I was in Berlin, I could never think of anything to say. Francis said to give it time, and he was right._

_I miss both of you very much, and I hope that you two missed me just as much. I wrote my address in Berlin on the back of the paper, but please wait until winter to send me anything, I don't want my father to find the letter and become angry with me. He is angry all the time._

_But don't worry, I'm awesome, I can handle it. _

_Roderich you better still be practicing that music I got for you, I went through a lot to steal that book. Elizaveta is your hair still long or did you get sick of it and cut it?_

_From,_

_Gilbert_

* * *

A/N: I will try to begin updating To Save You every Saturday, so look forward to that! School, however, is starting up again soon so don't be too distressed if I update a bit later.


	7. Chapter 7

Before Gilbert could blink, the summer of 1931 had passed him by, and he was on the train ride back home to Berlin. Ludwig was seated across from him, moping as he read the last book that Joachim had given him for his birthday. Gilbert sighed, watching his brother who he'd never seen so pouty before.

"Maybe you can go back each summer," Gilbert suggested.

Ludwig didn't say anything, too focused on his book and being in a bad mood. Their parting with the old man had been rather sad, as he waved from a slight distance. He and another elderly couple the only ones at the station, all three of them saying goodbye to loved ones.

The train ride seemed to go much faster than it had last time, both Ludwig and Gilbert dreading being home. He vaguely wondered if Elizaveta and Roderich had done what he'd asked and waited to send a letter, he couldn't imagine what would happen if his father found a letter from his old friends. He also wondered if, like Antonio had said, his parents had sorted everything out between them. Regardless of being seventeen, Gilbert felt helpless when they fought, not quite sure how to handle the situation, and definitely not knowing how to make it so his parents would stop fighting.

When the train arrived, both brothers took a few minutes to finally haul themselves to their feet. Gilbert had already spotted their father in the crowd, solemn and stern as always. His hair was slicked back, and he stood at attention, dressed very formally. He looked as though he were greeting a business partner or someone higher up than him, rather than his sons.

As they exited the train and approached their father, he made no move to greet either of them. Instead, he turned away from them and walked to where the luggage was. The scene was all too like when Joachim had picked them up months earlier, aside from the lack of teasing and a lighter mood.

"Grab your things boys, and then meet me outside, I'll have the car waiting," their father said.

"Where's mother?" Ludwig asked.

Their father favored walking away from the two of them over answering Ludwig. Gilbert narrowed his eyes and frowned. This was really going to be unawesome. At least once he got home he would be able to go see Francis and Antonio. They always knew how to make a bad day better.

Once they had their things, Gilbert and Ludwig walked for what seemed like hours to leave the train station, their feet dragging and their bags weighing them down more than usual.

"Maybe things have changed," Gilbert said. "Maybe things will be awesome again, like they used to be."

Ludwig didn't even offer a nod in response.

The car ride to their house was tense, and uncomfortably silent. It was nothing like the times when he, Ludwig and Joachim would sit in the 'reading room', as Ludwig had dubbed it. Gilbert wouldn't read, so much as just have a book open in front of him, while the other two finished three books in a day. They were silent days, but they were calm and relaxing. This car ride, in particular, was nothing close to calm and relaxing. Gilbert could feel the hairs on his arms standing up, and his shoulders were tense.

"So how is mother?" Gilbert pressed.

"Fine," their father snapped.

"Why didn't she come to the train station?" he asked.

"Just be quiet," he was told.

Gilbert did so, and then glared out of the window. Already, he could tell that things were _not_ awesome at home. They probably wouldn't be awesome ever again, despite their parents having had a whole summer to sort things out. It wasn't too long, only four months, but they should have been able to at least realize that the fighting was not something to do while their children were awake or when their tutor was over.

"When will Mrs. Berlitz come to teach us now that we're back in Berlin?" Ludwig asked.

"Mrs. Berlitz will no longer be teaching you," was all they got. Neither brother inquired as to why. Gilbert certainly knew why, and he felt the shame coiling in his gut for being the cause of the nice old lady losing her job. "Your new tutor is a man named Mr. Kappel. From now on you will be given a proper education."

Gilbert cringed at the thought, but stayed quiet as their father pulled the car up to their house, not even stopping to help the boys unload their things or carry them upstairs. The house was oddly silent inside, and it was a sound, or more a lack of sound, that Gilbert was not used to. He had adjusted to dogs trotting around or of the pages of a book slowly turning. In this case, though, he expected a warm greeting from his mother or shouting between his parents.

Instead, he walked up the stairs and to his room, where everything was the same as it had always been. His pile of discarded letters was nowhere to be seen, presumably discarded even more so by his father. Gilbert set down his things, not sure if he was ready to unpack yet. His chest felt strange, like it had when he first left to go stay with Joachim. The feeling of leaving home.

_But I am home_, Gilbert thought, glaring around his room. He approached his window that overlooked the city, and shrank at the thought that he had once thought this was an amazing sight. All he could see now was building after building after building.

After deciding that he was going to go stir crazy if he sat all day and did nothing in his house, Gilbert meandered downstairs and back to where he had taken off his shoes, and slipped them back on. "I am going to see Francis and Antonio!" he called. Before he could receive any sort of disapproval for his actions, Gilbert ran out of the house and hopped onto his bicycle, pedaling down the street. Even after a summer away, it was as though he knew where he was going without even having to think about it.

Within a few minutes Gilbert was at the door of where his friends temporarily lived, knocking loudly so even if they were asleep they'd hear him. On the other side of the door he could hear what sounded like Antonio stumbling to wake himself up, slumping against the door.

A second later though, Gilbert heard a very excited, Antonio-esque scream as the door was flung open, nearly hitting Gilbert, and the German was wrapped in a scent that was so _Antonio_. "Gilbert!" the Spaniard cried.

"Hey, Toni!" Gilbert responded with just as much excitement. "It's been months!"

"Francis, Gilbert is back!" Antonio called, dragging Gilbert backwards into their apartment without releasing him from the bone-crushing hug. "Francis, come say hello!"

"Antonio, _cher_, please, I am right here, I can hear you," Francis said from his casual perch on the couch. "Hello, Gilbert, it is good to have you back in Berlin."

"It's good to be back," Gilbert said, although a moment after he regretted it. The only thing that had been good about Berlin so far was that he was with his friends. "Did you two sit around and do nothing while I was gone?"

Francis dramatically put a hand to his forehead, imitating a sob. "We were so lost without you, Gilbert, we had no idea of what to do or where to go or how to ever recover the awesome quality that you brought to our little trio."

"Damn right I made you guys awesome," Gilbert said. "I mean, you were pretty _okay_ before you met me, but now you're a lot better."

"Did you write to your _girlfriend_?" Antonio teased, shoving Gilbert to a seat on the couch.

Gilbert blushed, but nodded. He crossed his arms though, attempting to be aloof. "It wasn't really to her though, more to her brother. I don't care about her _that_ much." Francis rolled his eyes, and Antonio laughed. Gilbert supposed, despite the troubles at his house, it was good to be back in Berlin.

.

Mr. Kappel, not-so-unexpectedly, turned out to be one of the most horrible human beings Gilbert had ever met. He was nothing like Mrs. Berlitz. Every day when he arrived at ten am on the dot, Gilbert and Ludwig were expected to greet him at the door, but the greeting was never friendly. He made Ludwig and Gilbert salute to him, and wait until he got to the parlor before they joined him.

There, he would sit down and lay out all of the learning materials for the day, and organize himself. The brothers were not allowed to sit until given permission to, and even then they had to have perfect posture. When Mr. Kappel had seen how Gilbert sat so casually and without a completely straight back, he tied Gilbert to the chair in several places to teach him "proper posture".

Ludwig, being so neat all of the time, was Mr. Kappel's favorite student from the get-go. His salute was perfect, his posture was perfect, his grades were perfect, he never did anything wrong. Unlike Gilbert, who felt like, under Mr. Kappel's gaze, he did every single thing possible wrong. He never answered fast enough, or thought of the right answers, or did his homework right.

That was probably Gilbert's least favorite part about Mr. Kappel, every day they had a pile of papers or books to read. Ludwig didn't mind, but it always managed to make Gilbert mad. How was he supposed to spend time with Antonio and Francis if Mr. Kappel didn't leave until two in the afternoon and gave them three hours' worth of work to do after he left? Despite everything, Gilbert managed to spend most of his afternoons with his friends in which time they spent planning their trip to Paris and Antonio's hometown.

"In Paris, we will stay in my family's home," Francis said. "My parents have moved to America, but they left me the house, free to do whatever I see fit. It is not a long walk from the center of the city, and of course I will have to show you both all of the sights. And no, not just the Eiffel Tower, Gilbert," he said, having seen Gilbert roll his eyes. "And then in Spain we will stay at your house, correct, Antonio?"

Antonio nodded brightly, a grin stretched across his face. "I'm sure you will love it, it's very nice. Probably just like where you stayed for the summer, Gilbert."

Gilbert could hardly imagine that both of his friends had houses of their own. He felt so dependent on his parents when he was around Francis and Antonio.

"How is your mother, Gilbert?" Francis asked, somewhat out of the blue.

"She's awesome," Gilbert answered with a grin.

Of course, that had been a lie. Gilbert and Ludwig hadn't heard from or seen their mother since the day she waved them goodbye at the train station. Their father refused to speak of her, and Gilbert could only imagine that meant she had left him. But why she didn't take her sons, Gilbert didn't know. It made him mad just to think about it. As unawesome as it was to be mad at his mother, she had left him and his twelve year old brother in the care of a man who they never saw.

Every night, he would stop by the table to pick up the food their recently-hired maid had cooked, and then return to his room. He claimed he had important business to be working on. Gilbert detested the idea that some sort of business was more important to his father than his family.

"Don't ever become like him," Ludwig said one night from across the table. He set down his knife and fork, watching Gilbert intently, who also put down his cutlery. "If you and Elizaveta start a family," Gilbert blushed, "or even if it's with some other girl, don't treat your children like this."

"I won't," Gilbert assured. "I can't imagine ever being as horrible as he is.

.

It was one of those such nights that Gilbert had finally decided he'd had enough of his father's crap. Gilbert was seated across from Ludwig, who had begun eating. The older of the two sat and waited for his father to come downstairs, watching him with a cold glare. The eldest blond barely stopped by the table as he grabbed his plate, not even bothering to glance at his sons.

Until, however, Gilbert stood up, standing at his full height. "Aren't you going to eat with us," he said, not even bothering to say it as a question. "Hasn't it always been family tradition that we eat together like a family?"

From across the table, Ludwig shot a Gilbert a horrified look. "Gilbert," he hissed, "sit back down."

Gilbert didn't listen, watching as his father set his plate back down, but instead of sitting down, he approached Gilbert. Even from a slight distance, Gilbert could smell the heady stench of alcohol on his father's breath. "What did you say to me?" he asked, his voice low.

"I want to know if you will actually eat dinner with us for once, and at least pretend that you haven't ruined our family," Gilbert said, refusing to back down, even as his father closed the distance between them.

"Why you selfish little brat," he snarled, curling his hands into fists.

"I'm the selfish one?" Gilbert snapped. "_You_ won't tell us where our mother is, _you_ sent us away for a summer, _you_ hired a teacher who is turning us into brainwashed," the younger German struggled to find the word he was looking for, his heart hammering in his chest, "Nazis!" he finally spat out.

A flash of regret washed through Gilbert as his father's expression darkened, but Gilbert continued to hold his ground. He was at least a foot shorter than the other German, and definitely didn't have anywhere near the amount of muscle mass his father did. That wouldn't stop him from doing what he felt was right.

"Is there something wrong with being proud of your country?" he asked.

"When it puts my friends' lives at risk, yes!" Gilbert retorted. "When my friend was persecuted in our town for being different than anyone else, yes, there is something wrong with being proud of my country," he repeated, forcing himself to speak quieter. He knew that shouting would get him nowhere.

"Your friend is trash," his father responded. "If you feel so strongly about this, then you can get out of my house. Take your things, and leave. Go die in the streets, Jew-lover."

"I'm not leaving," Gilbert said. "I won't do anything you want me to do anymore."

Ludwig, still on the other side of the table, watching the exchange wide-eyed, finally stood up. He stayed where he was, but still the two others looked towards him. "Do not threaten my brother again," he said quietly. Gilbert felt his chest well up with pride for his brother, a wide smirk carving itself onto his features. "You may not agree with each other," he continued, "but he is still your son, and you shouldn't want him dead."

Their father, obviously having lost the fight when Ludwig joined, stormed upstairs, his plate forgotten. Gilbert held his father's glare the whole way up the stairs and to his room, only relaxing when he heard the door slam shut. He sighed, and fell back down into his chair, his legs shaking as if he had run a mile.

"I've never been so scared in my life!" he laughed, running a shaking hand through his hair. "Thanks for coming to my rescue, little man," Gilbert said, grinning at his brother. "It was pretty awesome of you."

Ludwig nodded, and sat back down, going back to eating his meal without a word. Gilbert eventually joined him, though he could barely sit still. Adrenaline pumped through his veins, and he felt as though he _could_ run a mile.

Hours after the fact, Gilbert was lying in his bed with that dopey grin still on his face. He stared at his ceiling, his heart still beating at a thousand miles per hour. Never before had standing up to someone made him feel so energized, even when he fought the bullies off in the schoolyard for Elizaveta. He had a feeling that he could do anything.


	8. Chapter 8

The morning of Gilbert's departure to Paris wasn't the easiest morning he'd ever gone through. Ludwig was upset that Gilbert was leaving him alone for a few weeks, as his train to Joachim's house was still almost a month out.

"I don't want to be here alone with him," Ludwig muttered, his eyes turned to the ground.

Gilbert sighed, but then grinned at his brother, raising his eyebrows. "Don't be such a sourpuss," Gilbert chided. "It won't be for that long, and then you'll stay the summer with the old man again. It'll be awesome!"

"I suppose so," Ludwig said as he turned and went upstairs to his room.

His father, unlike Ludwig, had been all daggers when he'd heard Gilbert was leaving home. "How long will you be gone?" he snapped at Gilbert as the younger German packed his bags.

"I'll be in France for a year, and then Spain for another year," Gilbert said. "After that, I'll be twenty and I won't be coming back here."

"I didn't want you back here anyways," was the response. "You are such a nuisance," his father began again, "why don't you join the army, and become less of a burden on our society."

"I'd rather not," Gilbert said. The whole time, he didn't make eye contact, continuing to pack and recheck his packed things. His father got fed up of not being able to stir a reaction out of Gilbert, and stormed from his room.

While his family wasn't watching, Gilbert slipped out of the front door, and then tore down the street to where his friends would be waiting for him. The path he took was so familiar to him that he didn't even have to think about where he was going, he could just run and his legs knew where to take him.

Both Francis and Antonio were outside waiting for him, their own things packed and piled into Francis' car. Gilbert hadn't even known Francis had a car until a few months ago, but all that mattered to him now was that he was getting out of Berlin. That had been all he'd cared about since he'd returned home that summer.

"Gilbert, _cher_, if you could run a bit faster. It will take some time to get to Paris," Francis called, waving the other blond over.

Gilbert couldn't have possibly run faster, but he tried anyways. As he got to the car, he haphazardly threw his things into it, and then slid into the car. "Get your asses in here!" he ordered, though it was all light and playful. His friends both laughed, and got into the car.

Not even five minutes later, they were on the streets of Berlin, all three of them singing obnoxiously loudly and horribly, attracting all sorts of annoyed stares and glares from pedestrians and other drivers. Gilbert couldn't have cared less about what anyone else thought, it didn't even cross his mind how Ludwig was at that moment, if he was being a big crybaby in his room or if he was being mad about the whole situation.

.

Gilbert couldn't remember when he'd fallen asleep, probably sometime when they crossed from Germany to France, but sure enough, Francis was shaking him awake. He was reminded all too much of the train ride to the old man's house, but as his bleary eyes opened and cleared, his jaw dropped.

Francis had planned their trip perfectly so they would arrive in Paris at night, and Gilbert had never seen such a sight. Even the busier parts of Berlin were nothing like this at night, and he could barely comprehend was he was seeing, but it was _awesome_. People were on both sides of the street, and sometimes _in_ the street, some drunk and stumbling, others wandering with friends and just having a good time.

The things Gilbert really noticed, though, were the girls. Each girl he saw had her hair and makeup done up, wearing nice clothes and pretty dresses and high heels. Some of them had bottles of wine, others cigarettes, and some had both. It was something Gilbert had never seen before, the women he'd seen in Berlin had all been very attractive, but none of them were like _this_. Even Elizaveta in her stupid, ugly green dress couldn't have compared to the women in Paris.

Francis laughed when he saw Gilbert's reaction, raising a slender eyebrow. "Gilbert, please, sit down and refrain from making a mess of my car, we are almost at my house, wait until then."

Gilbert blushed, but slumped back in the seat of the car and crossed his legs. Antonio to the right of him was still sound asleep, lightly drooling and snoring, and Gilbert rolled his eyes. This was the most awesome place he'd ever been to, and Antonio was just sleeping through it. He, of course, had already been to Paris many times before, but Gilbert couldn't fathom getting used to a sight like this.

Francis turned the car down a side street, and then pulled up to a house like Gilbert had never seen. He'd thought that the house in Berlin was huge, but it had nothing on the place Francis pulled in to.

"You live _here_?" Gilbert asked, completely stunned. "And your parents just let you _have_ a place like this?"

The Frenchman laughed, rolling his eyes at Gilbert. "Yes, now stop drooling and wake Antonio, I'll go inside first and make sure everything is in order."

Gilbert nodded dumbly, watching as Francis approached the huge house, and went inside as thought he was a king. Which, Gilbert supposed, with a house like this, he practically was. The German simply shoved Antonio until he woke up, and then got out of the car. He ran down the street and back to the main road where everything was alive and active. He grinned so wide he felt as though his cheeks were going to split open. People who noticed him, mostly girls, waved and laughed. He waved back stupidly, still unused to all of this attention, but it was definitely attention he liked.

"Gilbert!" he heard Antonio calling, probably back at the house. He lazily strolled back, his wide grin still present. "Gilbert, there you are!" Antonio said when he saw him, waving him over. "It's tradition to get drunk on the first night anywhere we stay, and you're going to miss out."

Well, Gilbert couldn't pass up a chance to get drunk. So even with pounding, aching leg muscles from sitting for such a long time, he ran back to the house, only taking a few seconds to look around in awe before Antonio dragged him to the kitchen.

There, Francis already had three glasses of wine poured, and each of the three men took one.

"To Paris," Francis said, raising his glass.

"To friends!" Antonio said, much louder than necessary.

"To pretty women," Gilbert said with a grin.

.

"Now, darlings," Francis said, about a week after they had all finally settled down into Paris. "The first thing we must do is get both of you new clothes."

Both of his friends gave him offended looks, Gilbert personally thought he looked _awesome_. All he had were very uniform-type clothes but he'd already been told multiple times wandering around town that uniforms were attractive. Even Francis himself had said so once.

"I apologize, but Antonio you look like you wear what you fall asleep in-"

"That's because I do," Antonio interrupted, but Francis handled it as though he hadn't even stopped speaking.

"And Gilbert, you look very German."

"What's wrong with that?" he snapped, furrowing his eyebrows at Francis. He'd never heard German be used as an insult before, but it wasn't something he liked.

"Well, Gilbert, not a lot of people in France are very happy with the Germans as of late, it would be better if you claimed to be something not German," Francis explained.

Gilbert felt his insides turn, realizing that occasionally he got dirty stares when the three of them were out and about.

"I would hope that my clothes would fit either of you, but alas they do not, and neither of you look quite so good in blue. Gilbert perhaps, if we found the right shade, and Antonio of course must wear red." And just like that Francis was on a rampage, talking about colors and subhues or something similar, things that Gilbert had no idea were even things. He was reminded vaguely of someone he'd met before when he was younger, but he brushed the feeling off.

"Does it really matter how you dress?" Gilbert asked Antonio quietly while Francis was still mumbling about this and that.

"To Francis it does, he always likes to look his best at all times," Antonio whispered back, though it wasn't much of a whisper.

Gilbert nodded, watching Francis as he continued rambling for a few more minutes before clapping twice.

"Come, get up, the both of you. We'll go shopping, and then tonight we'll go drinking, you'll see the difference a new set of clothes can make.

Just like that, they were transported to the nearest high-quality clothes store. Francis claimed it was the best in all of Europe, both Antonio and Gilbert agreed to satisfy the slender blond. He had them both fitted and new clothes found for them within just a couple of hours, but Gilbert had never been more bored in his life.

It was two straight hours of stand up, sit down, stand up, sit down, hold your arm out, hold your other arm out, sit down, stand up. The whole time Francis tutted about colors and trims and styles that would work for them best, and the employees were all very complacent with what he wanted.

At the end of the two hours, he and Antonio had multiple sets of more casual clothes, "For when we are out on the town, darlings,", some fancier clothes, "For instances like tonight when you will want to be well dressed, but still casual,", and each both had one very high quality suit, "For much more dignified events, you must understand,".

"How can you even pay for this?" Gilbert asked. He'd seen the price for one of the suits, and while he didn't know how French money really worked, there were a lot of numbers. "I wouldn't be able to buy one of these things."

"Ah, Gilbert," Francis sighed, putting a hand on his shoulder and steering them out of the boutique. "There are many things you can do when you come from an extremely wealthy family."

"Have you _seen_ the house we are staying in?" Antonio asked as he walked on the other side of Gilbert. The three of them were loaded down with clothes and Gilbert felt just a little silly as some people across the street laughed at the sight. "Francis' family never has to worry about money."

"Where did you even get all that much money?" Gilbert questioned as they loaded up the car.

"The Bonnefoy family has more than a few vineyards and other such sources of money. My mother and father are in America for that exact reason, there is more space for orchards there." Gilbert nodded. He supposed that made sense, but he still felt a pang of jealousy. He would probably never have that much money in his entire life.

.

That night, Gilbert found himself abandoned in the fanciest bar he'd ever seen. The lighting was dim, just bright enough to see who you were talking to, despite extravagant chandeliers every five feet. Everything seemed to be overly extravagant in France, from the houses to the women. The walls of the bar were carved intricately, and artwork hung here and there, paintings Francis could probably recognize in a heartbeat, while Gilbert didn't even have the foggiest idea.

The instant they walked into the bar, Antonio abandoned Francis and Gilbert in favor of some cute girls in a corner of the bar. Gilbert had planned to make some sort of small talk with Francis, hoping the older blond would help him out a bit, but then Francis swept away when he heard someone calling his name. Apparently the people in Paris knew him, although that shouldn't have been such a surprise.

But with both of his friends gone, Gilbert found himself standing awkwardly to the side of the doors of the bar, until he saw a girl that was making far too much eye contact with him. _Be awesome_, he thought, grinning in what he hoped looked like a casual, but confident way, _if wine-breath and tomato-face can do this, so can you. You are awesome_, he encouraged himself.

By the time he'd finished his encouragements he had strolled his way over to the woman. Her honey blonde hair was loosely curled, and it hung lose around petite, pale shoulders. Gilbert physically strained himself to not lower his eyes to the tempting low cut of her dress, instead meeting her bright, gray eyes.

She parted her perfectly full, red lips, and Gilbert prepared himself for the worst, but she just started speaking in French. Gilbert blanched, he didn't know a word of French, but maybe he could use that to his advantage.

"Oh, excuse me," he said in German, still grinning. "I do not speak French."

The woman raised her perfectly arched eyebrows, and sat back in her seat. She crossed her legs, and Gilbert gulped. He'd never seen a woman be this... this... he didn't know the word for how she was acting, but it had him curious. He sat across from her, trying to keep a mental image of how Francis was around women.

"Oh, goodness, you're a foreigner!" she exclaimed. "Do you speak English?"

Gilbert nodded, switching languages rather easily. His mother had always said a wide variety of language in life would come in handy; it was proving to be true. "I do," he said.

"I'm so sorry," she said, laughing softly. "I did not mean to assume."

"It's fine really," Gilbert responded. "I rather like the way French sounds, it truly is a beautiful language."Although that wasn't really what Gilbert thought at all about French, he'd caught the woman's interest.

"Well, if you like the language so much, perhaps you should learn it," she said. Gilbert internally groaned, how had she gone from curious to aloof in a matter of seconds?

"No, no," Gilbert said, attempting to pick up the conversation again, "I believe I would ruin the language, it is nothing like German."

"You're German?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

He instantly remembered what Francis had said earlier that day, and shook his head. She seemed curious again, but now he had nowhere to go. He desperately tried to think of something, if this woman knew anything about Austria she wouldn't believe for a second that he was from there. "I'm, uh," he stammered, just wanting to get something out, "I'm Prussian."

He didn't even know where being Prussian had come from. Perhaps a history lesson from one of his teachers? Or maybe he'd read it in a book or heard it at Joachim's house. Whatever made him say it, he had the woman's full attention now.

"You're Prussian?" another woman asked. She was with her two friends, but when she heard what Gilbert had said when she passed by, both she and her friend paused.

Gilbert felt his grin very quickly becoming out of control. He hadn't expected that to work out as well as it had. "Damn right I'm Prussian," he said. "Both of my parents have pure Prussian lineage, so I'm the real deal. It's _awesome_ being Prussian."

The two new girls sat in the empty chairs at the table, and Gilbert suddenly had three sets of inquisitive eyes on him.

"Tell us more about yourself," the first girl said, giving Gilbert a 'go on' hand gesture.

_Well_, Gilbert thought,_ if I'm already in this deep why not dig myself an entire grave?_ "I grew up on the border of Germany and Austria," he said, and at least that much was true. "It was small town, but it was nice." For the most part, he stayed fairly true to events that had happened in his life, that is, until, one girl spoke up.

"Do you have a wife or a girlfriend?" she asked.

Gilbert just knew he should have said yes. Some part of him felt like it was turning colder and colder with guilt the more he talked and flirted with these girls. If Elizaveta had known what he was doing, she would have hit him with a frying pan, or beaten him to a pulp with just her fists. Some other part of him though, was enjoying all of the attention far too much. Elizaveta wasn't in Paris, she wasn't even in France. She would never have to know about any of this, and what were the chances they would ever meet again?

"I did, once," Gilbert said, trying to sound dramatic, but not over the top. "Her name was Elizaveta, she grew up with me in that town, and we were best friends."

"What happened to her...?" the first girl, the blonde one, asked. Their little table had fallen quiet, and Gilbert was afraid they would be able to hear his pounding heart, and his lie would be given away. Instead, the women continued to watch him with rapt fascination.

"She died," Gilbert said. The girls gasped. "We were on the nearby river, it had frozen over for the winter. We didn't have skates, but we were still pretending like we were skating." Gilbert took a few moments to pause and think of where his story was going, _Elizaveta isn't dead_, he thought, _but they don't know that_.

"You don't have to continue," one girl said. Gilbert was all too reminded of that afternoon in Berlin when Francis had told him about the girl he had fallen in love with. He did exactly what Francis did then, gave a sad smile, and shook his head.

"She fell through the ice. I pulled her out as quickly as I could. I wanted to bring her into town to get help, but I could not carry her. We were both soaking wet and freezing... her lips started to turn blue, but she smiled at me. _Ich liebe dich,_ she whispered to me," he paused again. "That means I love you in German... she closed her eyes, and never opened them again."

The next thing Gilbert knew, one girl was holding his hand, and had lost control of her crying, with makeup running down her cheeks. The girl to his left had taken his face in her hands, and was kissing him full on the lips. His chest swelled with joy that all of that had actually worked, and he felt inexplicably warm, but also incredibly guilty. The guilt however, didn't last long as the girls stood. Gilbert stood as well, he didn't know what was happening.

The two that had joined Gilbert and the first girl pulled him into a tight hug each, pressing themselves against him. Gilbert's cheeks instantly flushed a deep scarlet.

"We'll be here again tomorrow night, Gilbert," one of them said. "You can tell us more about her and your life there."

Gilbert nodded, and pulled her into another hug. "That would be _awesome_," he said. He smiled at them as they took their leave, the girl who had held his hand still wiping her tears away.

"What a tragic story," the blonde girl, who was still seated said, who was still seated at the table. Gilbert had practically forgotten that she was even there. She wiped a tear from the corner of her eye. She stood after a bit, and walked to Gilbert. She put a hand on Gilbert's cheek, and his face heated up again, his heart beating so hard it almost hurt. He nearly forgot how to breathe when the woman leaned forward. "Though, perhaps, it would be best if you forgot about her, _non_?" she asked.

The woman leaned up, and kissed Gilbert, her color-dusted eyelids fluttering shut. Gilbert kissed back, his heart still racing. She tangled her hands in his short blond hair, and he wrapped his arms around her slender waist, pulling her flush against his chest.

.

The next morning, Gilbert stumbled out of his room in just the pair of pants he had very ungracefully shucked off the night before, the pants having been the first article of clothing he had found. When he finally meandered into the kitchen and found a cup of coffee already waiting for him, Gilbert was shocked, thought it was edging more towards horrified, as he noticed the girl from last night was seated across from Francis at the table, laughing over some sort of photo album with him.

Gilbert had no idea what to say, and without a doubt had not even the slightest inkling of an idea of how to handle the situation. Francis though, noticed him and handled the situation for him.

"Ah, Gilbert, I apologize for stealing Marianne away from you, she is such a charming woman."

She laughed, but Gilbert just felt bad. He didn't even remember if Marianne had even told him her name.

"Good morning, Gilbert," she said, a coy grin on her face.

Gilbert nodded in response, still too flustered to think of anything intelligent to say. He had no idea how these things were supposed to work out, and hopefully Marianne hadn't gotten the idea that they were going to stay together for longer than just one night. That would dump a whole new bucket of guilt onto the German. He sat across from them, sipping at his coffee and hoping neither of them were feeling as awkward as he was. They clearly weren't, thankfully.

Just shy of an hour later, Marianne stood, and walked over to Gilbert. She dipped down lightly and kissed his cheek, lingering to whisper in his ear. "Hopefully you will soon forget her, it's so sad to see a man in so much pain over someone long gone."

The moment she walked away, Gilbert's face started burning, and he looked at Francis for help. The Frenchman though, kept his cool until he heard Marianne shut the door after herself. Then he started to laugh hysterically, wiping the corners of his eyes.

"Don't laugh at me!" Gilbert snapped, his face still flushed bright red.

"I am sorry, _cher_, but you looked so helpless and lost. Like a baby kitten caught out in the rain," he laughed. "I am amazed you even brought someone back with you after only the first night of going out. However did you do it?" he asked.

"We were both just really drunk," he said. He couldn't have told Francis he _lied_, let alone to _three girls_, he'd probably think it was far from awesome. Really though, the drunk part wasn't far from the truth, Gilbert couldn't remember a thing that had happened. He could remember Marianne kissing him, and her soft warmth guiding him through the cold streets of Paris back to the house Gilbert was sharing with his friends. There, they had drunk far too much from one of Francis' most expensive wines, and proceeded to stumble upstairs and into Gilbert's bedroom. He assumed that since Marianne had been in a good mood she'd been happy with his well... performance, but he had been too drunk to remember it now.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he felt a twinge of regret and guilt named Elizaveta, but he paid the twinge no mind. He could finally live this lifestyle he had been so envious of when he'd first met Francis and Antonio, and some girl he would never meet again wasn't going to get in his way of enjoying his time in Paris.

.

While Gilbert was in France, he lived by the motto of "I'm Prussian, my one true love died, I only speak German and English". He found it earned him a lot of attention, attention that was definitely _not_ starting to go to his head.

He found with every time he told the story of the fake Elizaveta and called himself Prussian, it became an easier task, and the story was becoming more and more detailed. He didn't even know how the original story started out, and he could only imagine that compared to his current one, it was sad and pathetic.

The more developed fake Elizaveta was someone who Gilbert fell in love with at first sight. She was shy and soft-spoken, and wasn't violent. He helped her escape from her shell and make more friends, practically becoming the town her and saving the day. They went to school together, sat next to each other, ate lunch with each other, all of the typical cute-couple things to do.

Gilbert, in his stories, was also the savior of Elizaveta's 'sister Sophia', he had all but taken Roderich out of the picture. Sophia was a constant victim of bullying, and bad things always happened to her, but Gilbert was her knight in shining armor. He worked in that she had a crush on him, but understood that Elizaveta came first.

The death of the fake Elizaveta, though, stayed the same. It was a brisk, winter morning and they were along the frozen river. The ice seemed thick enough to them, and supported their weight for a long time. Eventually though, Elizaveta wandered somewhere where the ice wasn't as thick as everywhere else. The ice began to crack underneath her feet, and within a few seconds she had fallen through, Gilbert hadn't even noticed what had happened.

He rushed over to her as fast as he could, and hauled her out of the water. She had only been in the water for a few minutes, but already she had started to shake, and her sopping wet hair was beginning to freeze into little clumps. Gilbert dragged her to the nearby bank, taking off his winter jacket as fast as he could and wrapping it around Elizaveta. He attempted to carry her back to the town, putting one arm under her neck, and the other under her knees, but he wasn't able to carry her.

She put a hand on his arm, and softly smiled at him. She told him not to bother, and that she loved him. Gilbert said he loved her too. He kissed her, and she closed her eyes. When he broke the kiss, her breathing had stopped and her eyes never opened again.

They had the funeral a few days later, and Gilbert didn't allow himself to cry. Sophia was a wreck, sobbing against Gilbert. His family moved to Berlin to escape the memories, and from there he began his travels of Europe.

Without fail, the lie left any girl he told it to in tears, and they were unable to control themselves.

"You must tell us how you do it, Gilbert," Francis said one night. The three of them had been drinking in Francis' house for once instead of out and about.

"I'm just good with my words," Gilbert responded with a wink and a grin.

Now, though, was the end of their year in Paris. Francis was torn up over it, saying he could never get over the feeling when he left Paris.

"It is my home," he said, looking over the things in the house one last time. "It is always horrible to leave home, you don't understand, Gilbert. You were not happy at your home so it was easy for you to leave."

Gilbert laughed. "Damn right I wasn't happy there. I'm even happier that I'm not going back there for another year."

"Don't worry, Francis, you will love Spain just as you always do!" Antonio said, bringing his luggage from his room and setting them at the front door. Francis and Gilbert had already packed their things into the car, forever waiting on their laid-back friend.

"Yes, I suppose that is true. However will Gilbert cope, though?" Francis asked dramatically "He will no longer be in the city life or in the center of attention!"

"I'm awesome without either of those things!" Gilbert said.

Antonio laughed and smiled, pulling both of his friends into a hug. "Of course you are, Gilbert!"

They all laughed, despite Gilbert being, admittedly, just as despondent as Francis that they were leaving. He had found the Prussian side of himself in Paris, the more-awesome-than-usual side of himself. That was, _if_ it was possible for him to be more awesome than usual. Some part of him still felt guilty for using Elizaveta's name for his lies, and he felt worse for making it seem as though Roderich didn't exist, but he did what he had to do.

_Them's the breaks_, he thought.

* * *

A/N: I've waited so long for Gilbert to call himself Prussian you don't even know. Both this chapter and the next will be much longer than usual, due to covering a larger period of time in one chapter. The next chapter will have more things happen, since only the first week or so in France was important.


	9. Chapter 9

When the three of them arrived in Mijas, the first thing Francis did was seclude himself in a corner of the main room of the small house, scribbling away at a piece of paper. Antonio and Gilbert, who were still unpacking their things, watched Francis intently, noticing every little smile, every little twitch of his eyebrows.

"He doesn't usually write letters," Antonio said.

"Who do you think they're to?" Gilbert asked.

Antonio shrugged, looking away when Francis glanced up at them and caught their eyes. Gilbert continued to stare at the Frenchman, who raised an eyebrow.

"Is there something on my face?" he asked.

Gilbert shook his head, and then went back to unpacking the things he had brought with him. He really hadn't brought much from Berlin in the first place, and most of his possessions consisted of the clothes that Francis had bought.

"Who's your letter to?" he asked.

"Someone I met in Paris," Francis said coolly, keeping his eyebrow raised at Gilbert even as he continued writing.

Antonio put a hand on his shoulder. "Lay off, Gilbert. It is none of our business."

"But I'm curious," Gilbert said. He stood and walked over to Francis, crossing his arms over his chest. Francis looked up at him, and met his eyes. They stared for a few moments before Gilbert shot his arm out in a quick motion and caught Francis' letter in his hand. He let out a wild cackle as he avoided Francis with the letter still in his hand, managing to hold it away from the other man. "Let's have a read, eh?"

"Gilbert, it would be wise of you to give that back," Francis said, eyebrows furrowed.

Gilbert snickered, holding the letter so he could read it, but still keeping it away from France. He cleared his throat, and began reading. "_Dearest_," he paused, "now who could dearest be? _Dearest, we have begun travelling again. I am writing you now from Spain, and I do not know when I will return to France. It may be in a year, it may be more. _C'mon, Francis, just tell us and I'll stop reading."

"I think you should take Antonio's advice and realize it is none of your business," Francis snapped.

Antonio, on the other side of the room, didn't know what to do or handle the situation.

"_Every day I will miss your eyes and your accent_. Ah, a foreigner, huh? _It seems as though we will be gone from each other for so long, though I promise it will not be as long as it feels._"

"Gilbert, stop acting childish," Antonio said, finally deciding to cut in.

Gilbert huffed as his fun was ruined by Antonio, the letter snatched from his hand by Francis. "Aw, Antonio, it was just a bit of fun! Besides, aren't you just more curious now?"

"Yes," Antonio said, "but I owe it to Francis to not interfere. He has feelings just like both of us."

Gilbert groaned and rolled his eyes, crossing his arms again. "Don't turn this into some sort of emotional crap, we didn't come here to discuss this kind of stuff."

"No, Gilbert, we didn't," Francis said, "but you should still be acting like a decent person. Ever since we left from Berlin you've turned into quite the bastard, _cher_."

"I have not!" Gilbert snapped. "I'm awesome! I'm always awesome!"

"Then maybe we should ask you how Elizaveta is doing." Francis' tone was cold, as though he knew something.

Gilbert narrowed his eyes at Francis. "I don't talk to her anymore, you should know that."

"No, Gilbert, I meant the Elizaveta that is dead."

"That's none of your business," Gilbert snapped. "It doesn't matter anyways, it's not like me telling a lie hurt you in any way."

"It didn't, but that't not the point, Gilbert," Francis said. "We know you still have feelings for her, Mr. Prussian."

Gilbert glowered at France. "Why does it matter to you?"

Francis shrugged, and Gilbert felt something inside of him snap. He was just _trying_ to rile him up at this point, and it was working more than Gilbert would have liked to admit. "Are you trying to prove something with how many women you've slept with?"

"Francis, please stop," Antonio said. "Gilbert, calm down."

Gilbert balled his hands into fists, his anger was at the breaking point. But it wouldn't be awesome to hit someone he was friends with. It wouldn't be awesome to hit someone like Francis. He did everything for a purpose, Gilbert just didn't know what the motivation was. He turned and stormed out of the house, slamming the door after him.

"Francis, what did you just do?" Antonio asked, turning to his friend with wide eyes.

Francis had a sad smile on his face, but he cheered it up the moment his eyes met Antonio's. "He was being a stupid boy, and needed a shove in the right direction," he said. "It doesn't matter if he hates me now, at least I've fixed some other part of his life for him. Stubborn German," he muttered with a light laugh.

.

Hours later, Gilbert was still moping on the front steps to Antonio's house. He'd torn the grass to his left to pieces, and had even dissected a few of the flowers growing along the walkway. He tensed up when Francis abruptly sat down next to him, but when he was offered a glass of wine he took it. Francis leaned back on his spare hand, his other occupied with his own glass of wine, he casually sipped at it, while Gilbert steamed next to him.

"What's your problem?" Gilbert snapped.

"Nothing," Francis said. "I have train tickets for you to go back to Berlin."

He couldn't have said it any calmer, but Gilbert felt as though he had been punched in his gut. "What the hell?" he hissed, glaring at Francis. "Why would I go back to Berlin now? We came all the way out here."

"Gilbert, you came with us because you were running away," Francis said. He held up the hand holding the wine as the German opened his mouth to say something else as thickheaded as before. "Don't tell me you didn't. You were scared of your father, scared of what was happening to your life."

Gilbert scoffed, and turned away from Francis. He couldn't bring himself to drink any of the burgundy liquid in the glass.

"You're a kind person, Gilbert, both Antonio and I were worried for you in Paris."

"Well you were wasting your time, I was fine."

"You can't tell me you didn't feel bad about all of it, Gilbert," Francis sighed.

The two fell quiet. Francis set down the wine, and then dug a few scraps of paper out of his pocket. He handed them to Gilbert, who reluctantly took the papers.

"The train leaves from the station here at seven, make sure you're not late," Francis said. "I won't accept you wasting my money, so at least go back to Paris. There is a key to my house in one of the windowsills, stay there and continue hiding, if that is what you so wish." Francis stood up, and took the wine with him back inside, leaving Gilbert to think.

"Fine," he snarled after Francis shut the door. "If they don't want me around anymore, I'll leave." He waited at least another hour before he went back inside, train tickets stuffed begrudgingly in his pocket.

.

Gilbert stood outside of his house in Berlin, staring up at the glinting, perfect windows and the gleaming, painted exterior. His stomach felt weird, he was meant to be in Mijas, relaxing on the beach and getting drunk every night. Instead, he was back in Berlin, back with Ludwig and his father and Mr. Kappel.

He approached the door, and knocked three times.

How would his father react? Gilbert was expecting him to spit in his face, call him some names, yell at him, and accuse his friends of doing something they hadn't. He cringed as he began noticing all of the Nazi flags hanging around the house. Two were draped outside of the front windows, one was hanging on a pole just to the left of the door, and another miniature one was in a potted plant.

The door opened, and Gilbert prepared himself for the worst.

"Who are you?"

He didn't recognize the voice. When he looked up, he didn't recognize the face either. His eyes widened as he stared at the woman in front of him.

"Who are _you_?" he asked. "Are the Beilschmidts here?"

"You mean the man and the young boy who lived here?" she asked. Gilbert nodded, panic rising in his chest. "Oh, well I've heard they moved to a town somewhere along the Polish border."

Gilbert felt his heart sink, but he nodded and grinned for the woman. "I'm sorry to have bothered you, please go back to enjoying your day."

The woman smiled at Gilbert, and shut the door. He turned and walked down the familiar steps, taking one last look back at the windows he had so often spent his nights staring out of. He walked to the train station, a small wad of money in his hand. He clearly didn't belong in Berlin anymore, so he figured he would go home.

.

Gilbert stepped off of yet another train, something that was becoming far too familiar for him. The station was still a mile away from town, so he walked the rest of the way. His heart was doing some sort of strange flutter of excitement, despite that he was nervous.

"You can't be nervous," he said to himself as he walked. To his left was a hill that he would never forget. A grin broke his solemn expression as he remembered the night he had spent there with Elizaveta and Roderich. All three of them had gone home covered in bug bites, and Roderich's eyes hurt from trying to read in the dark, but none of them had regretted that day.

As he approached the town, everything gave him a heart warming sense of nostalgia. The houses were all the same, and the air was fresh and clean. The cobblestones under his feet had become less flat as time passed, but everything was the way it was supposed to be. He wasn't nervous or scared to be here, it was _awesome_ to be here. He felt like he was home.

"Beilschmidt, is that you?" some man called from were he stood on his lawn. A small child played with his dog. Gilbert had no idea who this man was, but he nodded and laughed loudly.

"Damn straight it's me!" he announced. He walked over to the man, who saluted him. He saluted back, knowing it was what he had to do. "It seems like nothing has changed here."

"Everything's changed, you just haven't been here in years. How many has it been since you left?" he asked.

"Too many," Gilbert said. "What's changed around here, I'm clearly behind on the news."

The other German thought for a moment, crossing his arms. "Well, old man Petersen died around the time you left," Gilbert felt a pang of guilt somewhere in his chest, though he didn't know why. "A new family moved into your house, but that Jew girl chased them out." At the vague mention of Elizaveta, Gilbert found himself instantly curious.

"What happened to that family?" Gilbert asked.

"Oh, right, you used to spend a lot of time with them," he said, giving Gilbert a scathing glare, "but hopefully you've learned better."

"Of course I have," Gilbert said, "I just want to know what happened to that scum." The words caused him physical pain to say, and he knew later he would gladly eat a whole bar of soap if it prevented him from ever saying something like that again.

The man laughed, slapping Gilbert's shoulder. "That's good to hear. No one knows about the girl, she managed to get away somehow. The other three were carted off to some ghetto."

Gilbert's heart dropped through the floor, his good mood crushed in only two sentences. Elizaveta was probably alive, but there was no way he would find her now. As for Roderich and his parents, he didn't want to think about it. He didn't know what a ghetto was, but it sounded like something bad.

"Thank you," he said, and saluted to the man as he left again. He heard a faint 'heil!' behind him as he tried to walk as calmly as he could in the direction of the Edelstein house.

The pristine white paint was covered in mud and what looked like char. All of the windows were broken, and the car was smashed to pieces. As carefully as he could, Gilbert entered the house, only having to nudge the front door to get it to open. Everything was in disarray, and it was nothing like the place he remembered.

All of the furniture had been destroyed or broken, the pictures that hung on the wall smashed and torn. Someone had clearly tried to burn the house down, but either the fire didn't catch or it was stopped to save the rest of the town, as only a few parts of the house were badly singed.

Fear bubbled in Gilbert's stomach as he entered the pretty sun room that had once been where Roderich played music every afternoon. The beautiful black piano that sat in the center of the room was hardly recognizable. Every other instrument Roderich owned was just as broken.

Gilbert found himself drawn towards the wreckage of the piano, the torn pages of a book sticking out from the splintered wood and cut wires catching his attention. He carefully moved the shattered wood, and lifted the book with his free hand. The pages were torn and brown from being left to rot. In the corners of the pages were little symbols, presumably songs that Roderich had mastered.

It was hard to tell at first, but it was the music book Gilbert had stolen for him.

.

Somehow, Gilbert found himself back in Berlin, guzzling beer after beer at a bar. The prices were higher than usual, and at first it made him mad, but he had nothing to do with his money anymore. He'd spent most of it on train fares from Berlin to his home to Berlin again. The only thing left to do was drink until he couldn't see and maybe stumble in front of a car.

He cursed Francis for ever making him leave Mijas and go back to Berlin. He cursed Francis for being the one to help him up the day he had crashed his bike. He cursed himself for leaving Berlin and letting his father take Ludwig somewhere he wouldn't be able to find them again. A small town along the Polish border was what the woman had said. How many of those were there?

He realized he could have gone to Joachim's, but the old man wouldn't have known he was there, and there was no way Gilbert could have walked from the town to his house. Perhaps he could have gotten a car ride from someone in town who was generous enough to take a shit out of luck kid to his grandfather's house.

Gilbert didn't even have the energy to pay any mind to any of the girls that approached him. He had started to tell one the story of Elizaveta, but quit halfway through and told her to go away. She'd reacted negatively, of course, but Gilbert didn't mind the bright red slap mark across his face.

"My friend told me you're having a hard time," one girl said. She sat next to Gilbert, her green eyes sympathetic. "Would you like to tell me what's wrong?"

Gilbert rolled his eyes, but looked the girl over. She was pretty, with bright green eyes and full lips. That wasn't the only part of her that was nicely filled out, and Gilbert grinned a bit. That was one of the few things he missed about Berlin while he was in Paris, German women always seemed to be more filled out.

"Let me buy you a drink," he said, waving at the man running the bar, indicating he wanted another round of drinks.

The girl smiled at Gilbert, raising her eyebrows. "Oh, how kind of you," she said. Her voice was sweet like honey. "So, what's been bothering you?" she asked, leaning forward and resting her chin in her palms.

Gilbert instantly dove into the part of him that told the story of Elizaveta, the part of him that was serious, and had no time for smiles. "It's the anniversary of the death of someone I once knew," he said. The girl fell quiet, leaning forward a bit more. "She was a girl I had grown up with in a town not far from here," his story was becoming a bit different than usual, the alcohol in his blood changing his words without him realizing it.

"What happened to her?" the girl asked. She was just the same as every other girl.

"She died," he said. She gasped, but in some way Gilbert couldn't describe it seemed fake. "Her name was Elizaveta, and I loved her. I've never loved anyone else in my life," he said, giving Francis' trademark sad smile.

The girl had her eyebrows raised, and was grinning at Gilbert. _That_ was certainly a reaction he had never seen. "Oh no, poor Gilbert," she said. He didn't remember telling her his name. "Losing the love of your life so tragically, it's your own fault for moving to Berlin."

That certainly caught Gilbert off guard. He stared at the girl, trying to figure out who she was, and how she knew him. Her green eyes were bright and playful, and Gilbert was hit with a wave of memories from the summer of nineteen twenty seven. He shot up in his seat, his eyes wide.

_ Her eyes reminded him of a summer day._

_ Her eyes were like all of the leaves on the trees._

_ Her bright green eyes looked up at him._

_ Her eyes were avoiding his, shy from having kissed him._

"Elizaveta!" he screeched.

Elizaveta stood as well, and Gilbert pulled her into a tight hug, he spun around with her in his arms a few times, and then stood still, hugging her as tightly as he could. He didn't know if he was dreaming or not, but if he was he hoped he would never wake up.

"This is, this is _awesome_," he stammered, keeping her body pressed against his. She had changed so much, Gilbert hadn't even been able to recognize her.

"It's good to see you, too," Elizaveta said. "You better not have told all of Europe that I was dead!" she snapped.

Gilbert laughed and shrugged, diverting the topic. "How did you know I would be here?" he asked.

Elizaveta laughed as well, eventually pushing Gilbert off of her. "I didn't know you would be _here_, I just knew you would be in Berlin. Your friend, Francis, seems to have connections everywhere," she said.

Gilbert shook his head. _Francis_. He had been the one to force Gilbert back to Berlin, and apparently for good reason. He couldn't even bother to be sorry, he was just glad he was with Elizaveta again.

"It's good to know that I'm the love of your life," Elizaveta said, a coy grin on her face.

Gilbert blushed a dark red and looked away from Elizaveta. "I didn't know it was you," he said. "If I had known it was you, I never would have said those things."

Elizaveta gave him a sharp punch to his chest, and all of the air was knocked out of his lungs. "Gilbert, that's not how you tell a girl you've missed her," she said.

He gave her an apologetic grin, and took her hand. "I can't believe I'm seeing you again," he said.

She nodded, and fell quiet. For a long time, they both just looked at each other, taking in the differences. Gilbert had finally become taller than her, and had grown into quite the man. Elizaveta, of course, had become quite a beautiful woman, not even the prettiest girl in the world could compare to her. She was like a flower, as much as Gilbert hated sounding like Francis, it was the only thing he could think of.

They hadn't even realized they were leaning closer to each other, until their lips met. Gilbert wrapped his arms around Elizaveta's waist and pulled her closer, her own arms draping over Gilbert's shoulders. Their kiss was broken for long enough to allow a couple shy laughs, but then they were kissing again.

Gilbert's face felt like it was on fire, and everything was becoming too hot. He ran his fingers through the ends of her long brown tresses, softly prodding at her lips with his tongue. She opened her mouth for him, and their tongues met. It was a bit sloppy, with clacking teeth and bumping noses, but it didn't matter to either of them. All of Gilbert's nerves felt charged with lightening, and his heart was as light as a feather.

Elizaveta was the first to pull away, softly laughing and looking up at Gilbert. He leaned down and softly kissed her forehead, brushing aside her bangs with his hand. She lowered her arms to his chest, and pulled him into another hug. His hands rested on her lower back, one finger tracing small circles at the base of her spine.

"You're beautiful," he whispered. Never before had he said that to any of the girls he had slept with, but Elizaveta was different. She wasn't a prize to be won or a trophy to have, she was Elizaveta, and she was the love of his life.

"We can't stay here," she said, pulling away from the hug and grabbing Gilbert's hand.

He didn't understand what she meant until he was pulled out of the bar, and they were in the brisk Berlin air. His heart began to race, and he gripped Elizaveta's hand too tightly as she led him along the streets.

"Do you have a house?" he asked.

Elizaveta nodded. "I haven't exactly been spending all of these years doing nothing but sitting around and wasting away my time, Gilbert. I've worked and I've earned money."

Gilbert laughed, giving Elizaveta's hand a squeeze. "I wouldn't expect anything different from you."

Her house was dwarfed by the others around it, but it was nice, and cozy. Elizaveta was never the person to have more than she needed, and the house suit her perfectly. They had barely gotten through the door and shut it after them before they were kissing again. At some point, Elizaveta began to cry, and Gilbert pulled away from the kiss, tilting her chin up so she would look at him.

"I knew you weren't," she was saying, "but I thought you were dead..."

Gilbert shook his head, and roped Elizaveta to his chest. "I'm here now, you can stop crying."

Elizaveta, with tears still streaming down her cheeks, hit Gilbert's back, sniffling a bit. "Don't make fun of me for crying, you jerk."

"Well maybe if you didn't look so stupid when you were crying, I wouldn't make fun of you," Gilbert retorted with a snicker and a grin.

Elizaveta shook her head and hit his back again, then grabbed his hands. "I missed you so much," she said.

"I missed you, too, Elizaveta," Gilbert said. It felt good to say her name without it being some lie about how she died. It felt even better to see her, to hold her, to have her there again. It didn't matter to him what he had heard in their hometown, she was there with him and it was all that mattered. "I love you," he whispered, blushing all over again.

She nodded and gave out a tiny, choked-back sob. "I do too."

Gilbert followed Elizaveta as she led him towards the back of her house, and they fell onto the bed in her room, entangled for a few moments before they righted themselves. She was laying beneath him with a warm smile, all Gilbert could hear was his racing pulse, and all he could focus on were her beautiful green eyes.

Elizaveta reached up, and undid the buttons of Gilbert's shirt, and pulled the material off of him. For the first time, Gilbert was nervous. What if Elizaveta decided she didn't like him? What if she kicked him out? Her hand reached out, and she softly touched Gilbert's chest. He could have sworn his heart sped up even more.

She lowered her hand, and undid the buttons of her blouse. Gilbert swallowed hard, watching every movement her hands made. As she finished the last button, Gilbert helped her remove the blouse, and then leaned down. He softly kissed her collar bone, and then trailed his mouth down. He could tell Elizaveta was trying her hardest not to, but he could feel her muscles tensing and relaxing as he kissed her, pleased with himself that he'd made such a beautiful girl squirm.

His fingers hooked under the hem of her skirt, and he looked up just long enough to see her nod. He slid the fabric off of her hips and down her legs, caressing every inch of skin as he went along. Elizaveta's breathing had become ragged, and as Gilbert removed her skirt, he sat up and raised his eyebrows.

"Are you sure?" he asked.

She nodded. "Of course I'm sure, otherwise I would have kicked you out by now."

Gilbert laughed as he leaned down and then kissed the brunette again, making short work of her panties and bra. When he sat back up and began to remove his own pants and underwear, he couldn't take his eyes off of her.

"You really are beautiful," he said. She blushed and shook her head, giving Gilbert a half-hearted glare. He snickered, but then fell quiet again as he removed his own pants. Already he was hard, and arousal was pooling in him.

As he lined himself up and then pushed into her, the world frond them became all hot heat and oversensitive nerves. Gilbert's vision was clouded with stars, and he was in such bliss he could barely breathe. Below him, Elizaveta was gasping and moaning, crying out his name. Gilbert's stomach felt tight, and he couldn't help the small sounds that escaped him, or the times her name was hissed from between his teeth.

He didn't know how long they were together, but it didn't matter. All that mattered was that when they were both too exhausted to move, they were together in Berlin, panting hard and basking in each other's warmth.

* * *

A/N: Hhhhhh I know this chapter is late, but please try to forgive, I wasn't too late, after all! Over here it's only 40 minutes after midnight. Also, did I say things were going to happen in Spain? I lied, I couldn't think of anything, so I mashed the next three chapters into one, and I am surprisingly content with the result. This is the first time I've ever written a sex scene that wasn't overly explicit, I'll have to improve upon that skill.


	10. Chapter 10

It was a dark day for summer, with rain clouds gathering and turning nastier by the minute. Any moment now their part of the world would be plunged into cold wetness, but it was a perfect day to help others get away from this hellhole.

"There are two older men who have broken ankles, I think, they need to get out before it's too late," Roderich said to the three men on the other side of the fence. He lingered far enough away that if he was seen it wouldn't be suspicious, and they were far enough away that they wouldn't be seen. For the past few months they had been meeting in similar manners, working together to help get people out.

"You need to come with us, you've been here long enough." He was the youngest of the four of them, a brunet with chestnut eyes. Roderich didn't know any of their names, a precaution if the worst were to happen.

"If I stayed behind another time, how many more children could you save?" Roderich asked. "I'm more concerned for their sake, it's only so long until they're considered useless. I can still make myself useful."

There was shouting somewhere back towards the center of the camp, Roderich's heart felt as though it were constricting. They didn't have enough time to discuss what they should do.

"We could probably take three or four," one said. All Roderich knew about him was that he was not from Europe, despite looking very German.

"We have to go now," another of the men in front of Roderich said. He was the brother of the man who had just spoken. "We can take one of the older men and three younger boys safely," he said.

"Three is good enough for me to stay behind, please don't worry about me," Roderich said. "I need to go now," he said, and then turned and ran as fast as he could to his hut where he and his bunk-mates would be lined up and counted.

The three men were gone within a couple of seconds, no trace of them left to be seen.

Just as he did every day, Roderich stood in front of his bed in his bunk, straight as a board and silent. The guards tromped through, glaring at everything their eyes could catch. While making sure to never make eye contact, Roderich always scoured each man that entered to see if it was a face he recognized. He hoped that neither Gilbert or Ludwig would stoop to such disgusting levels, but he couldn't be sure. He never saw them, and nothing made him happier.

After they were looked over once or twice, the guards left and went about their business. The prisoners were then free to go about the central part of the camp, and Roderich went about his task of finding people who needed rescuing.

Already he knew he would be taking a bunk-mate's son who had so far escaped death as he could fit into small places. His father had begged and begged, knowing what Roderich did when he wasn't where he was supposed to be.

First he went to find one of the two older men who were injured, either of them would be fine. He felt so horrible whenever he saw old men or young children in the camp with them, it was torture just for him, let alone someone in worse condition. He searched everywhere, but neither of them were to be found. It was growing dark, so he could only assume the worst had happened and move on with what he had to do.

His bunk-mate's son was tagging along at his heels, staying far enough away to not bother this strange Austrian man who seemed so angry but also so sad and hurt. Roderich liked that everyone gave him as much space as they could manage, even under their conditions. He grabbed a teenager by the arm, startling him.

"Hey, what's your problem?" he snapped, ripping his arm away from Roderich.

Roderich grabbed him again, raising his eyebrows. He glanced around to make sure there were no guards within earshot. "I can get you out of here," he said. "And I can do it tonight, there are three men who will take you somewhere safe."

He calmed down, but his eyes held disbelief. "What do you mean?" he asked, his voice lowered.

"I do it all of the time, trust me. Just meet me over there, I'll have two children with me that will go with you," he said, motioning towards a hut that was furthest towards the fence. He began walking again, looking for anyone that he could take with him.

A small boy, presumably still alive for the same reasons as the one at his heels, was outside playing some sort of hand game with who looked to be his father. Roderich very carefully approached them, again looking for guards.

"I can get your son out of here," he said.

"He is not my son," the man said. "Why can you not take both of us?" he asked.

Roderich sighed, he often got this question when dealing with the older men. "The people who help people escape all of the time find it more crucial to rescue children and elderly. They are at more risk than you or I," he said. The sun was beginning to sink behind the horizon, they didn't have much time left. "Please, let me take him, he can live if he goes with me."

The man frowned, but shoved the child towards Roderich, who extended a hand to him. He took his hand, and with the other still trailing behind him, Roderich made his way to the rendezvous site he had set with the teenager.

Behind them, the chime for curfew sounded, and Roderich sped up his steps. If they were purposeful in the way they walked, they could appear to be heading towards the last wooden shack. None of the guards questioned him, and none were looking as the three of them ducked around back, where the other boy was waiting for them.

"We need to wait until it is completely dark," Roderich said, "it will only be a few minutes. But along the way to the fence there are guards and spotlights, please be very careful. We cannot make a sound." He turned to the children, looking them in the eyes in turn as he spoke. "You must be completely silent. This is not a game, and if you are loud all of us will get into a very big amount of trouble. Do you understand?"

The two children nodded, the fear easily readable in their eyes. Roderich hated to be so strict with them, but there was no other way to go about these sorts of situations. He didn't give them a smile of reassurance like he wanted to, he needed to make sure they understood the gravity of the situation.

Just as he had said, only a few minutes had passed and they were in complete darkness. Occasionally the light of a flashlight or a guard tower would pass by them, but they were out of sight for the time being.

"You head over to that wood pile over there," Roderich instructed, pointing towards where the three men would be waiting. "You two follow me as close as you can, but you still must be silent."

The children nodded, and with a brief gesture from Roderich, the four of them were on the way towards the fences. Nothing ever went wrong, but adrenaline coursed through Roderich's veins as though each time was the first time all over again. He periodically glanced back at the two children who were following him very closely, making sure they were keeping up.

He was amazed he could even bring himself to do something like this, it seemed more like something that Elizaveta would do. She was the brave and courageous one. She was the one who would fight a bear if she were protecting someone. Roderich wasn't even sure why he risked his life countless times for this, the first time the three men had come they had offered to take him and a few others, but when it came down to it, he stayed behind and allowed an elderly man to go in his place. Since then, it had become a sort of duty for him, saving three or four people a week.

Out of pure habit, he ducked behind one of the piles of cut lumber, the teenaged boy across from them, staying as low to the ground as he possibly could. Roderich pulled one of the children close to him, and only then realized the other one was missing.

His heart shot into his throat, and for a few moments he couldn't even think. He couldn't tell where the guards were, and it was all up to fate as he peered around the stack of wood, holding the other child close. The other was kneeling ten feet away, tying his shoes that were far too big for him. Roderich wished with all of his might that he could scream at the boy, ask him what he thought he was doing, aside from putting all of their lives at risk.

A guard was approaching, and the kid was still there, kneeling in the dirt. Roderich looked to the teenager, hoping to somehow form an idea with him without using words. He wasn't looking, though, he was looking towards the chain link fence that separated them from the rest of the world. In the distance, just at the edges of the forested land, Roderich could see the three men crouching there.

The teenager glanced at Roderich, then back at the gate. Roderich's eyes widened. If he ran then, with the guard approaching, he would be killed. He couldn't risk that, but something in him knew that if a good enough distraction was provided, he could rescue the other child. He shook his head, but in a moment, the teenager had hauled himself to his feet and was running. He was spotted in an instant. There was shouting everywhere.

As soon as he began to hear gunfire and the barking of dogs, Roderich ran and scooped up the child that had fallen behind. A light from another guard's flashlight found them, and Roderich froze. He was drawing his weapon, and shouting loudly. There was only one chance. Roderich doubled back, running as fast as he could, and grabbed the other child's hand as he passed.

Fire shot through his leg, but he ran as fast as he could towards escape. To their left, they passed the teenager. Roderich wanted to vomit, but he focused instead on keeping the children from seeing the blood spilling from his head.

"Under the fence, quickly!" he snapped, setting the other child down and ushering them under as fast as he could. It was a tight squeeze, but they made it, running straight to the open arms of the brothers.

"Come with us!" the brunet of the three urged, glancing up frequently at the guards that were drawing very near, very fast. "You'll be killed if you stay, just come with us!"

Roderich didn't need anymore convincing, and wormed his way under the fence. Luckily, he had lost weight and it wasn't such a difficult task. The fire in his leg was spreading further and further, washing over his whole body, but he ran after the three men.

He didn't know how far they ran, but even after the sounds of shouting and barking, they continued to run. The children were clinging to a brother each, securely held in their strong arms. They ran until the glaring lights and harsh words of the camp were left behind them. Only then did they slow down, eventually stopping in a more sheltered area.

The brothers were still holding their charges as the third of them knelt next to Roderich, digging through his pockets and muttering to himself.

"You were shot by a bullet, and still you ran this whole way," he said. He looked grim as he examined the wound and the blood, but then smiled at Roderich in a way that would have given him cavities. "You were only grazed, so you'll be fine. We'll just wrap it up and then we'll get moving again," he said.

He procured a roll of bandage or some sort of cloth from his pocket, and bound Roderich's leg tightly with it. Roderich, trying to seem as though the adrenaline hadn't worn off, and he wasn't in an excruciating amount of pain, hissed through his clenched teeth. Even countless times of accidentally shutting the piano cover onto his fingers didn't hurt as much as this.

He tried his hardest to think of the days when he was still young, and could go outside of his house and be greeted by his brave sister and his stupid best friend. For a moment, he wondered if either of them had died, but he pushed the thought out of his head. If he had survived hell, they had survived their daily lives.

"What are you doing here?"

It was a voice Roderich didn't recognize. The man wrapping his leg froze, but then continued with his task. The two brothers were gradually backing away, watching this newcomer.

"What are you doing out here?" the brunet asked. He finished with Roderich's leg, and then helped him to stand. He seemed, once again, so serious.

"We need to leave," one of the brothers said.

The newcomer moved his hands in front of him from where they had been crossed behind his back, he had a gun. Roderich felt like a mouse in the claws of a cat he couldn't get away from. The brunet stepped in front of Roderich, shielding him.

"Please don't do this," he said. "I told you my work was dangerous and I could get in trouble if I was caught. So please, put the gun down, okay?" he asked, a grin on his face again.

He lowered his gun, but kept a firm glare. "You're helping _them_, Feliciano." Roderich took a few moments to remark the name, was his rescuer Italian? He was certainly breaking a few stereotypes if that was true. "Why would you help _them_?"

"Because they're people, Ludwig," Feliciano said.

Roderich's heart soared, and he pushed Feliciano out of the way. "Ludwig, it's me!" he said. Feliciano gave him an incredulous, if confused look. "I don't know if you remember me, I was Gilbert's friend, who lived across the street. I'm Roderich, do you remember me?" Something in him wanted to tack on a _you'd better remember me_ but this situation was not one that would benefit from his haughty attitude.

Ludwig seemed caught off guard. Roderich didn't even know if he had the right Ludwig, certainly it was a common German name. "Edelstein?" he asked. Roderich could have collapsed with relief.

"Yes, Roderich Edelstein," he said. "Do you remember me?"

"Not really," Ludwig said. His hand was still firmly clamped around the gun, and he looked on edge. Feliciano was gradually moving closer to Roderich again. "I remember your sister more. My father hated the both of you, he wished the both of you were dead."

"Do you know where Gilbert is? He can help me."

"He's in Spain," Ludwig said, his voice flat. Roderich's optimism dropped with just three words. "You need to leave," he muttered. "Leave before I shoot you."

Roderich didn't know how to react, the last time he had seen Ludwig, he had been a small, innocent child. What had happened to him to make him weild a gun so easily? Feliciano pushed Roderich gently towards the brothers who had manged to get nearly fifty feet away in the duration of their conversation.

"Go with them," he said. "I'll handle this." He was smiling his cavity smile again, and Roderich hobbled to the brothers. They turned and left without a second glance.

The first few minutes passed silently, but the sound of a gun firing had them all stopped in their tracks. Roderich looked back, horrified.

"We need to go back and get him," he said.

One of the brothers grabbed his arm. "He said he could handle it, so he can handle it. We need to get the three of you out of Europe. We at least need to get you to Switzerland."

"No, I can't leave!" Roderich snapped, panic and bile rising in his throat. "I have friends here, I have family here."

"That kid said Gilbert or whoever was in Spain," the other brother said. "You have no one in Germany, and you'll never make it past the Polish border."

Roderich supposed they were right, and as they began walking again, he followed them. They walked a few feet in front of him, but were close enough that he could hear them muttering to each other. He wondered if the children could understand what was happening, or if they were in too much shock.

"Where will we go from here?" Roderich asked.

"To a friend in Switzerland who will take the kids for us. He always does, but only because his little sister is a sweet little girl who wouldn't hurt a fly. You could stay with them, or you could go somewhere else," one brother said. He was much quieter than the other.

"But I'm telling you now," the other said, he shot Roderich a cold glare, something he wasn't used to. He was normally as chipper as Feliciano. "If you die or get caught again after all of the shit we've gone through to rescue you, I will not be happy. None of us will be."

Roderich nodded, turning his violet gaze to his shoes that were scuffed and too small for his feet. "I wouldn't get myself caught again, and I won't die. There are people in my life who need me, and who need to know I'm alive," he said.

The quieter of the brothers laughed a bit. "It's good to hear that you haven't given up yet. Can I ask who they are?"

"My sister, and my best friend. He's the worst person I've ever met in my whole life, but he manages to make it charming somehow."

"What's your sister like?"

"Alfred," the other brother hissed.

"Sorry, sorry," Alfred said. "By the way, this is Matthew. By now you won't be caught and tortured, so we don't need to be so strict about names."

Matthew gave Roderich a small smile. "Welcome to the family business."

"Family business?" Roderich asked.

"Not so much of a business, as Alfred started pretending to be a hero, and now he's dragged me into it."

"It was not pretending!" Alfred exclaimed, seemingly genuinely hurt by his brother's words. "I've done a lot of good for this world!"

"Of course you have," Matthew said.

Roderich was reminded of himself and Elizaveta, and he smiled. He couldn't remember the last time he did that, and had actually meant it. The unused muscles ached, and it shortly fell away. He glanced up at the stars above them, the moon was a sliver of silver, shining dimly over them. He was amazed the two in front of him could see, but he supposed they had made the journey far more than once. In his head, he rehearsed the songs he had memorized from that stupid music book, his fingers moving without him realizing it. The habit brought him back to the white house with his mother, father, sister and Gilbert. The memories were happy, and could warm the coldest nights.

* * *

A/N: For those wondering, the next WWII based story will be from Ludwig's point of view, so the interactions in this chapter will be better explained in the future.


End file.
